


anyway you want to (anyway you've got to)

by crossingwinter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Amateur BDSM, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Analingus, Anidala, Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bath Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Blue Balls, Bondage, Chubby Rey, Come Eating, Come Marking, Cunnilingus, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent that turns into enthusiastic consent, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Exes, F/M, Feeding Kink, Fellatio, Filthy February, Food, Force Bond, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, In Which The Author Was Always Going To Get Freudian, Intercrural Sex, Lingerie, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Menstrual blood, Menstruation, Mentions of various forms of fisting, Mermaids, Mostly-Clothed Sex, Non-consensual voyeurism that turns into consensual voyeurism, Omega Rey, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Oviposition, Pearl Necklace, Pegging, Period Sex, Phone Sex, Por(g)n?, Porg Parenting, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Psychosexual nonsense, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Skinny Dipping, Skype, Sometimes Leia Organa is an unwilling participant in the author’s oedipal obsession, Somnophilia, Spanking, Tags Updating Daily, The Force is a Sex Toy, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Titty Fucking, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, ben solo cries during sex pass it on, blindfolding, breylo - Freeform, han/leia - Freeform, manual sex, mentions of cumplay, mentions of past Miscarriage, porgs, rimjob, role play, so does Rey pass it on, toothrotting fluff tbqh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 76,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: But you know she's getting something otherThan the love from her motherA Porn Challenge in which your author makes Rey and Ben bone their way through the month of February.





	1. Mixed Messages

**Author's Note:**

>  
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>  
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> 
> Ok cats and kittens strap in for a Fun Month. Updates will be daily. For the most part, the fics are independent of one another but I have at least one two-parter in here, and potentially a smutty sequel to another fic I've written because I have no self control.
> 
> I'll update the tags as I go, as well as provide the tags in notes at the beginning of each ficlet in case there are things that you don't want to read. 
> 
> Some are canonverse, some are AU, all are porn. You can find tagsets for each chapter [here](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/473470)
> 
> Special thanks to: jeeno2 and ever-so-reylo (betas extraordinaire!), persimonne (who has gleefully sent me some truly incredible ideas), walkingsaladshooter (who helped me figure out the title!), and msdes (who made the GORGEOUS moodboard!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU containing: Frottage, Wall Sex

_ She relaxes her throat, taking him in as deep as he’ll go, nuzzling at the black curls at the base.  Somewhere up above her, he lets out a guttural moan. _

_ “Kira.” _

_ She’s never felt more powerful than she has, hearing him moan like that because of her. _

It’s immediately after Rey hits paste and enter that she realizes—horribly—that her fic snippet did  _ not _ go to Finn.

No—no.  It went to Ben Solo, who lives across the street and has the most adorable senior cat named Artoo that she petsits for when he’s out of town sometimes.  Oh god. Oh  _ god _ .

She hits delete and immediately tabs over to the Messenger window where Finn is waiting for some good Kira/Kylo smut.

_ Finn do you know if Messenger deletes a message from everyone if I hit delete, or if it’s just on my end? _

Little bubbles appear next to Finn’s name.

_ Try deleting that one _

She does.

_ Done. _

_ Yeah I can still see it. _

_ Fuck. _

_ Just fuck. _

_ Who’d you send your porn to? _

_ The guy I catsit for. _

Rey tabs back to the window with Ben.

She hates Messenger so very terribly in that moment because she can see the little portrait with his profile picture on it, sitting right below her porn. 

He’s read it.

Rey’s heart is drumming horribly in her chest and she starts to type.

_ I am SO SORRY _

_ That was meant for another chat and I’m so sorry that was so inappropriate _

The bubble drops down beneath each of her messages and Rey’s probably about to expire from humiliation right there and then as she stares at it, waiting for him to reply.

Or worse—not reply.

Just pretend it never happened and be the bigger person which, she knows, will somehow be worse than if he flipped out at her, or if he made fun of her.

_ It’s fine _

She sags with relief and he keeps typing.

Then he stops typing.

Then he keeps typing.

Then he stops again.

_ It’s fine _

He sends again.  And that’s it. 

Or at least, that’s what Rey assumes.

 

-

 

It’s two months before Ben messages her again, and when he does, Rey’s stomach pits with shame again because she sees the last messages she’d sent him again.

_ Hey, I’m going to be out of town next week.  Would you mind looking after Artoo? _

She stares at his words.  Casual. As if none of it had happened.  Maybe it really had been fine? Maybe that wasn’t going to be it—no more Ben and his adorable senior cat who is blind and walks into things, but also manages to knock everything off the table on purpose when he’s not getting enough attention.

_ Sure. _

_ He’s been very needy lately—if possible, could you stay over with him?  I’ll cook you dinner/give you some extra cash if you do. If not that’s fine but I’m worried about him. _

Rey’s eyes freeze on the  _ cook you dinner _ part.  She knows he’s a chef, so that’s probably no big deal for him, but food is  _ always _ a big deal for her.  But, more importantly, he wants to be around her?  After she’d sent him her dumb snippet of porn?

_ I can definitely stay over. _

_ Awesome, thanks. _

And that’s it.

 

-

 

Ben’s apartment is the same as the last time that Rey was here.  She’s usually in and out, though. She feeds Artoo, changes his litter, pets him for a little while, and then heads home.

But she drops her shoulder bag onto the floor of Ben’s room.  He’s left a note on the bed. 

_ Artoo can’t jump up or down anymore.  He’s welcome on the bed, but be warned: he’ll want you to put him on the ground, no matter what time it is, if you do that.   _

Ben’s handwriting is clean, and clear.  The bed is freshly made and much firmer than Rey’s own third-hand mattress.  She feels like she’ll be able to fall asleep immediately on this thing.

She goes out into the living room to find Artoo, who has climbed from a coffee table to the sofa and is licking his white belly.  He looks up when he hears her come into the room and looks at her with unseeing eyes before chirping and going back to bathing himself.  

Rey sits on the other side of the couch and grabs the remote control and turns on the huge TV in front of her and her jaw drops.  

Ben had been watching  _ Space Battles _ when he had last been watching TV.

But more importantly, he had paused it on the scene where Kylo has Kira strapped to an interrogation chair and she kicks his ass with magical powers she hadn’t even known she had.  

_ So he will definitely know what the fic was, then,  _ Rey groans.  She hopes to god he’s not one of those people that thinks that Kiralo is fundamentally abusive and that she’s some sort of rape apologist for liking it.

_ He probably wouldn’t have invited me over to catsit if he did,  _ she thinks, trying to calm herself.  He’d offered to cook her dinner. If he were an Anti, he wouldn’t have done that.

He’s a chef.  He probably doesn’t care about fandom anyway.

She finishes watching the movie, and then the sequel that came out the year before.  She almost falls asleep on the couch except she remembers his comfy bed and goes to curl up in it.

It smells really nice.  Not like detergent. A human sort of nice.

Rey tries to memorize the smell of it, how it makes her feel sort of warm and tingly as she lets herself relax into it.  

 

-

 

The week passes uneventfully.  Artoo does, indeed, wake her up in the middle of the night when he wants to get off the bed, but she keeps letting him up anyway.  The reason she’s here is because Artoo is needy, and he does seem to be quite needy.

She spends the evenings on the sofa, watching movies from Ben’s collection, and the cat comes and curls on her lap and gives her very pointed huffs every time she dares to shift.  He purrs when she touches him and whines when she stops and really she should get a cat because this is sort of ideal, having a soft living creature that keeps you warm on cold winter nights.

_ Any thoughts on dinner? _

The message comes through the night before Ben is set to come back.  She’d sort of forgotten he had promised her dinner or extra cash. His bed’s so damn comfortable that that’s payment enough, in Rey’s books.  

_ Unless you’d prefer some extra money.  We never confirmed. _

_ Dinner works. _

_ What do you like to cook? _

_ I like cooking a lot of things.  What do you like eating? _

_ I like eating everything. _

_ We are quite the pair, then. _

Rey grins.  The all of four times she’s spoken to Ben in person, he’s struck her as having a bit of a smart mouth, so she imagines him sitting there, rolling his eyes.

_ What does Artoo like to eat?  Do you give him scraps? _

_ We’re letting the cat pick food? _

_ Well neither of us seems to have a better idea _

_ We’re my parents.  We’re actually my parents. _

Rey grins at that.  

_ Cool, I’ll pick stuff up on the way home. _

And that’s it.

 

-

 

There are important details that Rey will revisit later.  Details like how he has a lovely smile, how he made her laugh, how he thinks that Kira is the best character in the entire  _ Space Battles  _ franchise and yes—he thinks that Kira and Kylo should absolutely kiss; details like how he cooks her the best steak she’s ever eaten in her life—although it’s not as though she’s had a lot of steak to begin with; details like how he cuts up a little bit of steak into tiny tiny pieces so that the cat won’t have trouble chewing with his aging teeth and puts it on top of Artoo’s food bowl.

Those are important details, and Rey will come back to them.  The most important part of them—as far as she can tell, right now—is that they all led to this.

This, specifically, is Ben pressing her against the door to—the bedroom? The bathroom? She’s not really paying attention.  He’s got her pressed against a door and she has her arms around his neck and she can feel  _ everything _ about him.

His chest is very muscled.  She can tell because she can actually feel it rippling sometimes with his movements, when his hands go from cupping her face to cupping her ass.  He has wonderful hands, she also notices. Huge, confident, sensitive. She wonders if that’s because he’s a chef, or just because he’s him. It’s not a thought that stays for long because she’s groaning into his lips as his hands massage her ass, tilting her hips forward a little bit as though trying to get her—

“Can you hold me?” she asks him between kisses and his response is to pick her up completely and her legs snap around him, and she can really feel everything in a very different way now.

The button of his jeans is riding hard against her slit and she can definitely feel a sizeable bulge through the denim.  A very sizeable bulge. Which doesn’t surprise her, because he’s got his hands under her ass and she can feel how big those are.  It sends a shiver across her skin as she rubs herself against it through two layers of denim.

It’s been a long time since Rey’s had a full on make-out, much less a pressed-against-the-wall whatever-this-is.  And when Ben’s lips move to her throat, her heart joins them there and she opens her eyes and tries to control her breathing as he sucks at the pulse point just under her jaw.  The lamps are on in his sparse living room. Artoo has settled himself on the sofa and is staring at them with unseeing blue eyes. 

Rey’s eyes snap shut.  She’s not going to look at the cat while Ben’s making her heart race and her lips sigh as though she has no control over them at all.

Because she doesn’t really.  Her vocal chords are really just doing their own thing—moaning and sighing and humming as his lips suck their way down to her collarbone and back.  She turns her face to press it against the dark line of his hair. It’s so soft, and it smells good, and she sort of mouths at the skin of his forehead as she runs her nose through it.  If she weren’t afraid she’d fall if she let go of his shoulders she’d—

But she’s not going to fall.  He’s got her firmly pressed against the wall, his hands are secure under her ass, he doesn’t seem remotely concerned that she’s maybe going to slip down a little bit.  Indeed, now that she’s thinking about it for more than four seconds, one of his legs is directly underneath her, ready to stop her fall if, for some reason, his hands fail in holding her up.  So she lets go of his shoulders and runs her hands through his hair.

He groans into her skin and she feels that thick cock of his twitching between two layers of denim.  He kisses his way back up her neck and his lips find hers and she keeps running her fingers through his hair, deciding that now—if ever—is the time to mess it up.  Every time she cards it from one side to another, his hips jerk up and into hers. The first time, it catches her off guard and she squeaks because her whole body seems to get hotter from just that motion.  The second time she’s more prepared—or less prepared, maybe because instead of squeaking she just starts moaning and it’s not long before their voices are filling the room, making those indistinct noises that accompany feeling so very good.

It’s when the indistinct moaning turns into his name that Rey knows she’s in trouble.  

To be fair, she was always going to be in trouble.  The second that her heart started beating a little bit faster when she looked at him, the second she sent him that goddamn fanfiction—she’s read enough fanfiction to know how that would go.  Hell, she’s probably  _ written _ that fanfiction.  But it’s the moment that—breathily—she manages, “Ben,” that she knows she’s in trouble.

Her underpants are slick from her arousal, smooth in how damp they are which only makes the ridge of his cock against it through their jeans that much more inflaming.  It doesn’t have any right to make her feel this good. He doesn’t have any right to make her feel this good.

But he does. 

The hands she’d trusted to never leave her ass have departed, they’re now cupping her face as he kisses her, as he rocks his hips against her, pushing her back up the wall where she slides down for lack of anything but his hips to support her.  Her own hands are still in his hair, but she doesn’t really—she’s not sure she has the self control to really call what she’s doing  _ running her fingers through it. _  She doesn’t really know what she’s doing.  Holding on for dear life, maybe. Trying to keep herself together because the way his cock keeps—and the way her soaking underpants are—

And the way his name sounds on her lips.

And she’s coming—harder than she wants to, harder than she can really understand, given that they’re both still fully clothed.  She’s coming and it takes her a moment to realize that his name in the air is coming from her lips—and that hers in the air is coming from his because he starts groaning it when he realizes what’s happening and he goes very still.  

The room is still and silent except for the pounding of her blood in her ears, their ragged breathing mixing together.  

Slowly, she unwinds her legs from around his hips.  He’s looking down at her. His cheeks are pink, his eyes are blazing and those lips…

She stands on the tips of her toes and kisses them gently, and he clings to her, pulling her flush against him.  Now that their hips aren’t lined up, she can feel the dampness in the front of his jeans.

They stand like that for a long while, neither one of them wanting to break the moment.

Then Artoo yowls and they both look down.  The cat is standing there, scratching at the door they’d just—was it fucking if he hadn’t been inside her?  They’d both come. 

Ben eases Rey out of the way and opens the door and Artoo goes in—so it was the bathroom—and disappears into the covered litter box.  

Rey lets out a breathy laugh and Ben’s voice joins hers.

“So—uh—” he says at last.  “That was—”

“Yeah—”

“—great.”

Rey nods.  She looks up at him and takes a deep breath.  “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.  “I—yeah.”

“Sometime soon.”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned above, some of these are two-parters. This one is \o/. Part 2 to come (heh) possibly tomorrow or at the very latest in the next few days.


	2. The Facts Are These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the ficlet in Chapter 1.
> 
> Modern AU containing: Blue Balls, Handjobs, Vaginal Sex

The facts are these:

  1. Ben Solo has been in love with _Space Battles_ since he was seven years old and Uncle Luke brought home the first one from the rental store despite his mother’s explicit instructions that he be in bed by 9.
  2. Ben Solo _loves_ the new trilogy, despite the diehards out there who think this makes him a bad fan.  Kylo Ren is the most interesting character to grace a television screen in decades. Anyone who disagrees can fight him.
  3. The actress who plays Kira is so hot that he got an honest-to-god nosebleed when he saw a picture of her six-pack.
  4. And his neighbor, his cat-sitter, sweet smiling and beautiful-eyed Rey, writes Kiralo porn.



Because of course he had googled the phrase she’d accidentally sent him via messenger a few days later.  He’d found her account on a website called  _ Archive Of Our Own _ , whose purpose, it seems, is to be a platform on which people write stories about their favorite fictional characters.  She hadn’t even bothered to put a fake name on there. It’s right there in her bio— _ Rey, Kiralo Trash,  _ and a link to her tumblr and twitter.  He’d spent about forty-five minutes in her  _ they just need to fucking bang it out already  _ tag on tumblr, because good god, some of the art that people draw of these two.  It’s incredible, really. And that she has it all categorized for him to peruse like that...shouldn’t please him quite as much as it does. 

Then he’d gone through and read through the works on her  _ Archive Of Our Own  _ account.  She was...well, to say she was good was an understatement.

Somehow, he doesn’t really know how, she nails it.  Every time. Her prose improves with each piece of fanfiction she’s posted, but most importantly: she gets the fundamental nature of Kira and Kylo’s relationship.  She understands their loneliness, understands the sexual tension, the need for recognition, the fact that both are so stubborn, that both want to push the other to do what they want, that they each want to be tended to, cared for for the first time in their lives.

There are several subsequent facts:

  1. After reading several of her porny stories, he is harder than he’s ever been in his life and, when he does finally wrap his hand around his dick, he comes so quickly and so intensely that he doesn’t even know what happened to him.
  2. He cannot believe he just fapped to his catsitter’s porn.
  3. He cannot believe how many more times he does that between when she accidentally messages him and when he has to go out of town to visit his mother.
  4. He cannot believe that—while he does not read Rey’s porny Kiralo fanfiction while he is at his mother’s house (that feels like it’s too far)—he has read it enough and remembers it well enough that he can still bring himself off in the shower one morning.
  5. When he brings himself off in the shower, it’s not Kira’s face he’s imagining—not her six-pack abs nor the ferocity with which she defends Kylo from injustice: it’s Rey’s.
  6. Oh fuck.



 

-

 

Some additional facts:

  1. Rey’s smile continues to be wonderful.
  2. She has excellent opinions about _Space Battles_ (which he could have guessed already, but her opinions extend far beyond Kiralo).
  3. She took excellent care of Artoo while he was away (she always does; he is not surprised).
  4. She made him cream his pants for the first time since he was about thirteen.
  5. She wants to see him again, to do this again.
  6. “Sometime soon.”



It is the first time that—post orgasm—Ben Solo is unable to think about the  _ orgasm _ so much as the  _ everything else _ .  Yes, he’d come, and hard, and in his pants.  But he remembers her smile, her body pressed between his and the door, her legs around his hips, her sighs, her trembling.  He remembers the way his heart was in his throat when they’d said goodbye, remembers the way that she had been willing and eager and maybe, just maybe, it’s not truly terrible that he’d creamed his pants.

 

-

 

There are two things that make a good chef.  The first is being able to follow instructions.  Some recipes are very finicky, some require extreme precision, the exact right amount of spice or heat in order to make the dish taste good and not horrific.  Ben is good at this. It is what makes him a good cook.

The second is being able to throw the recipe out the window and wing it because you’ve already fucked up but that’s no reason to give up.  This is one that Ben has had to learn. His father is good at it—indeed it is innate to his father. But Ben has had to learn it.

Which is probably why his heart is beating in his chest the way it’s beating.  

Every recipe he knows for when he likes a girl consists of things he has started with:

  1. Talk to girl about common interests ( _Space Battles_ ; his cat)
  2. Cook girl dinner (with aplomb)



No recipe he knows for when he likes a girl includes grinding her against his bathroom door until he creams his pants.  

So the recipe is out the window.

It takes him all of thirty minutes to send her another message.  (Most recipes suggest that he should wait several days, to try and play it cool.  But he can’t go by the recipes anymore and he still hasn’t changed his sticky underwear.)

_ What constitutes soon? _

And he waits.

Not very long, because Rey replies about three minutes later.

_ When’s your next free night? _

_ The restaurant is closed on Wednesdays. _

_ I could do Wednesday. _

_ I can cook for you again if you’d like. _

_ I like your cooking. _

He smiles at that.  And then, because he needs to be as abundantly clear as he can be—both for himself and for her—that this is what it is, he replies with,

_ It’s a date. _

 

-

 

It’s a date that’s several days away, and when he next finds himself thinking the sorts of thoughts that lead to a state of physical arousal, he’s thinking not of the Kiralo porn he has read, but rather of Rey.

Which makes it hard for him to touch himself.

It feels presumptuous to touch himself.

Not when things are so tenuous, because no matter what he tells himself—no matter her “sometime soon”—it still feels like one wrong breath and the whole thing will shatter.

He tries to think of Kira, and her spectacular abs and warm heart, but her face just morphs into Rey’s and he releases himself and his cock twitches unhelpfully because all he can think of is the way that Rey had looked right after she’d come, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, her breath uneven.  He can still feel every line of her body against his. 

He wonders what size her nipples are, he wonders if she has abs like Kira.  He wonders if he’s strong enough not to think like this while his cock is hard and his balls are aching for release he doesn’t think he can give them.

_ Soon,  _ he tries to tell himself.  

He can make it to Wednesday.

 

-

 

He has trouble making it to Wednesday.

He blames his mind.

It summons—at the worst possible moments, like when he’s in the kitchen at work, or waiting for the bus, or petting Artoo on his lap—the feeling of Rey coming against him and suddenly he’s hard.  Very hard. (Poor Artoo is extremely disgruntled by this, which Ben thinks is worse than trying to cross his legs so the little old lady on the bus seat across from him doesn’t notice his raging hard-on.)

He doesn’t touch himself.  He won’t touch himself. Not until he knows that this is what he thinks it is.  He can’t bear to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. He should know better than to do this by now.

The facts remain: his hopes are up.  As is his penis. And there’s nothing tangible that he can do about either.

 

-

 

It’s a good date.

Ben can only assume it’s a good date.

Because the facts are these:

  1. They are on his bed and they are unclothed.
  2. Rey has been kissing him senseless for at least forty five minutes now.
  3. His heart is beating as though he has done a hundred meter sprint non-stop for the past forty five minutes.
  4. Her hand—so much smaller than his own, and rough from callouses she gets working at the body shop she part-times in—is wrapped around his penis.
  5. His penis is harder than it has ever been in his life and he doesn’t even think he’s exaggerating.  And she’s still touching it. 
  6. She’s still touching it and kissing his neck and his hands are twitching, his cock is twitching, his throat is—well twitching is the wrong word but it’s definitely moving without his actively trying to make it move.



He rolls them over so that he can hover over her and the way she’s looking up at him.  Her usually hazel eyes are practically black right now with her own arousal, her cheeks are flushed, her hair is a complete mess because of the way he’s tugged it out of its ponytail and put his hands through it when he couldn’t decide whether to caress her breasts—her nipples are small, and puckered into such tight little points that it makes his dick throb every time he thinks about them, every time he notices them, every time they brush against his chest—or cup her cheeks, or grip her ass, or just rub his fingers through her soft hair.  She has such lovely hair. Every piece of hair on her body is beautiful, and distracting—especially the hair growing between her legs, springy and wiry and brushing against his own groin so softly.

She’s rubbing it against his leg right now.  Does she even realize that she’s moving her hips in time with her hands in time with her panting breath against his neck?  Because he notices it. He notices it because her motions, her breath—that’s his heart beat right there. She’s his heartbeat, somehow.  And he’s not surprised. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her all week.

There’s so much he wants to say to her.   _ You’re perfect.  This is perfect. This is the best I’ve felt in years.  I want you to feel the way I feel right now for forever.   _ But instead, what comes out is, “Fuck,” and a sharp inhale through the sides of his mouth because she’s circling the tip of his cock with her fingers.

“Do you have a condom?”

He freezes.  Because. Like an idiot.  He doesn’t.

He shakes his head and he looks down at her.  And it’s agony to say what he knows he has to say right now.  “I don’t think I’d have enough control to pull out either.”

He sees disappointment in her eyes.  He feels disappointment in his own damn chest.  He’s spent his whole week not touching himself because he can’t stop thinking of her.  Suddenly he wishes they hadn’t taken their clothes off, that it was like they were last week, like they are horny teenagers who are afraid to push themselves too far but manage to anyway.

“Another time, then,” she tells him.  But her hand doesn’t leave his dick. No—no it doesn’t.  Instead, she keeps on pumping it up and down, and she spreads his precum over the top and her grip is perfect, somehow.  Better than his own. He’s always too tight when he grips himself, desperate to come and wanting to come faster, but Rey—god she is gripping him just right.  Tight, and yet loose. Hard and yet soft. The only thing that would make it better was if he had some lube or something, if her hand was wet enough that he could pretend it was her cunt.

He’d been right about one thing: he doesn’t have enough control.  Definitely not enough to pull out, and more than not enough to keep himself from coming in hot spurts over her belly, his cock twitching in her hand, his vocal chords doing something in solidarity until the world is still and quiet around him.

_ Fuck _ .

He looks down at her, expecting more disappointment, but instead she’s smiling.  If anything, she looks extremely pleased with herself.

Which, now that he thinks about it, from some of her fanfiction she seemed really into Kira having complete control over when and how Kylo comes.  (He will never forget reading that BDSM fic. Not ever. So long as he lives.)

So carefully, tentatively, afraid that if he breathes everything’ll break, he drops his lips to hers.

She sighs into them, and if he hadn’t just come, he’s sure that he’d be losing it to the sound of  _ that _ .

“I have a proposal,” he says quietly.

“Yes?”

“I run out to the store and get condoms.”  She knows as well as he does that the nearest CVS is a fifteen minute walk away.  “By the time I’m back, I’ll be...recovered.”

“Are you going to get me off first?” she asks him, and there’s something playful in her tone which is why he responds in a way he’d  _ never _ have considered responding in his life because his parents—no matter how embarrassed he’d been growing up and hearing them talking about it—raised him right.

“I could, but I’d rather you touch yourself and think of me while I’m gone.”

 

-

 

He’s past thirty years old, but he swears he gets hard the second he gets back to his apartment, a record twenty minutes later.  He hasn’t had a refractory period that short since he’d been seventeen, and god knows he hadn’t  _ needed _ it when he was seventeen the way he does now.

He hears Rey sighing on his bed, hears her whimpering.

“ _ Ben _ .”  Was she moaning his name or calling for him?  He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He just knows that he’s hard as he hurries his way through the living room, glad that Artoo is happily asleep on an armchair and not trying to get up on the bed that he’s hopefully going to fuck Rey on.  

He will never forget the way she looks, eyes closed, biting her lower lip between her teeth, one hand twisting one of those tight, tight nipples, one hand between her legs, rolling her clit.  Her cheeks are flushed and is it just him or can he see the remnants of his cum dried on her skin?

“Are you thinking of me?” he asks her in a low voice.  She doesn’t open her eyes, but he can see the way her lips are quirking up.

“Every night since I last saw you,” she replies and his pants are really too tight he should get new ones that aren’t going to constrict his dick this painfully.  “Ben—you’re all I can think of.”

He tugs his shirt up over his head and unzips his pants, the metal teeth of the zipper almost painfully loud in the quiet room.  Too loud, compared to Rey’s ragged breathing. 

“You’re all I could think of too, sweetheart,” he says and is impressed with how his voice isn’t shaking.  

“Did you come thinking of me?” she asks.

“No,” he says and her eyes snap open as he is dropping his pants.  If she’d been shocked by his words, she is distracted by the look of his near nakedness in the doorway of his bedroom.  “No, I didn’t let myself come at all. Not when you’re not there.”

Her eyes leave his cock and lock on his face.  They’re already bright because of how she’s been teasing herself.  Ben’s no expert—he’s had sex but not  _ a lot  _ of sex—but he’d be very surprised if she weren’t very close right now.

“Really?” she asks him, and her voice is shaking in the way that Ben’s hadn’t been, shaking as though she couldn’t believe it, wasn’t sure how to believe it.

“Really,” he says and he crosses to the bed.  He opens the condom box and grabs one, ripping open the foil very carefully and rolling the latex down his shaft.  He’s trying to think of something else to say, something meaningful, or suave, but Rey is sitting up now and her lips are on his and it’s the sloppiest kiss he’s had in a long while.  Her hands are on either side of his face right now, and one of them is  _ very _ damp from her vagina and the smell of her is overwhelming.  Better than anything he’s ever smelled in his life, better than any flavor combination he’s tested because it smells like Rey and hope and knowing he’s going to come again tonight and very soon.

He guides his tip towards her and she’s still holding his face, but her kisses have slowed.  He hears the way her breath is hitching in her chest. Then, almost shyly, and more than a little desperately, she whispers, “Please.”

He sheathes himself in her, and nothing in his life will ever be the same.  His hand will never be enough ever again, his heart is in his throat when she gasps and then moans and then starts to writhe against him, trying to grind her clit against him.  

He pushes her back down so she’s on her back again and then his hand is at the top of her slit, just above where he’s keyed into her, and he will never forget the feeling of her clit throbbing under his fingers as she starts to groan a ragged groan and her muscles begin convulsing around him.  “Ben,” she is gasping in his ear and no music has ever sounded as good as this. “Ben, oh fuck. Fuck.”

She’s trembling in his arms, breathing shakily, but it’s only when she starts to kiss his neck, his collarbone, that he starts to grind his hips into hers again.

Maybe it’s a good thing that he’d come apart in her hand earlier, because now he does have a little more control.  Now he can keep moving slowly so as not to overstimulate her. Now he can relish the sweet soft hot warmth of her, the contrast of being in her and being out of her, the feeling of “just Ben” and “Ben in Rey.”  He can memorize every moment, the way the crown of his cock feels against every inch of her it touches, the way she begins—when she’s recovered—to rock against him, to roll him over on his back and ride him only to let him push her back down on to her back, the way her tits bounce, the way her eyes look—hooded and lazy and loving—when they lock with his.

Because the facts are these:

  1. He feels like he’s the person he’s supposed to be right now as he looks down into her eyes.
  2. And he thinks that he sees that mirrored back up at him.
  3. And he feels calm about that.
  4. The way his heart is racing is not anxiety, it is peace.
  5. The heat he is feeling isn’t anger, or fear—it’s love.
  6. He thinks he might be falling in love.
  7. And the way she feels in his arms, the way he feels buried inside her, the way she calls out his name when she starts to come again—that all makes him feel as though falling in love might not be as terrifying as it could be.
  8. His dick is starting to twitch inside her as her aftershocks roll around him.  
  9. She’s still breathing his name.
  10. He’s breathing hers.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran a poll on twitter to decide which ficlet I'd post first. A/B/O won by a mile but the frottage requesters were much louder, and I wanted to post part two to this right next to part one.
> 
> So A/B/O will be tomorrow, and thanks for bearing with me.


	3. Temporary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha Kylo Ren, Omega Rey, Come Marking, Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex

On the first day of her heat, Rey is alone.  

She’s used to it—being alone.  She’s been alone for a long time.  She sobs to herself as she writhes in the bathtub, her cunt under the faucet because the steaming hot water at full blast is the only thing in their tiny apartment that will ram her hard enough and hot enough and surround her with warmth until Ben gets back.

_ I’m early,  _ she had texted him with panic as she’d hurried home from work, soaking through her underwear.

_ I’m coming home, sweetheart, I promise.  I’ll be there. _

But he wasn’t and so Rey lies in the hot water for as long as she can, smelling her scent in the steam of the bathroom and crying as her uterus swells for cum that isn’t there yet.

_ He’s on his way,  _ she thinks when she gets out of the bathtub. Her skin is pruney from how long she’s been in the water, and the water is now too tepid to really help abate her heat.  She is trembling less from the four orgasms she’d just made herself have and more from the emptiness in her uterus.  _ Fill me,  _ it is telling her, though with seed or a child she does not know.   _ Fuck me.   _

Her phone has four missed calls from Ben and a text and an invitation to share his location for the next twenty four hours on the Find My Friends application.

_ Boarding.  Be there in seven hours.  I love you.   _ And a link to his flight tracking.

“Right,” she says aloud, looking around her bedroom.  “Right.” 

She changes her sheets to the waterproof ones that they’d bought on sale at Bed, Bath, and Beyond when they’d moved in together.  Then, because she knows that it’s what Ben would make sure she’d do, she goes into the kitchen and drinks a huge glass of water in one go and makes herself have a banana.  

She goes back into the bedroom and throws herself on the bed, buries her face in the pillow that Ben usually sleeps on to try and get some of—any of—his scent in her nose as she thrusts four fingers in her cunt and does her best to bring herself to climax again.  It’s starting to hurt now, when she comes with no cum inside her. It’s a relief, but it hurts and she cries more than a little as her mind begins to spin.

_ Alpha. _

_ Alpha where are you. _

_ Alpha. _

_ Please Alpha it hurts. _

Again, and again, and again she rides her fingers.  She rubs her clit as hard as she can. It’s almost hard to keep her focus on it because of how wet she is.  Her fingers slide a little too easily over it and she rolls over and rocks it against the base of the palm of her hand because that bone is bigger, sturdier, and her full body weight can put better pressure to her clit from it.

She comes, but it doesn’t really do anything at all.  It’s not her  _ clit _ that needs satisfaction during heats.  She presses her face into Ben’s pillow again and takes as deep a steadying breath as she can before checking her phone.

He’s been in the air for four hours.  

She’d driven him to the airport a week ago—a business trip across the country.  Her heat wasn’t supposed to be for another week, they were supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be back before this started, he was supposed to be inside her, kissing her, pumping her so full of cum that her uterus wouldn’t be throbbing so badly—soothed by whatever proteins are in his semen that makes it taste so sweet to her tongue.

“ _ I’ll come back for you, sweetheart.  I promise, _ ” he’d murmured into her lips before going into the terminal and Rey had tried not to shudder and cry and shake too hard until she’d gotten home because it would never get easier, being left behind, even if only temporarily.

_ He’ll be back,  _ she tells herself.  She refreshes the Find My Friends app.  He’s still on the West Coast according to the app, but she knows that’s false because when she loads his flight tracker, he’s somewhere over Nebraska now.

Nebraska.  He’s got three hours left until he lands, and then another twenty minutes taxi-ing and getting a cab and then another thirty minutes getting home and Rey grabs her nipple and twists it and pinches her clit, trying so hard to make herself feel better about how miserable she is right now.  The glands in her neck are throbbing, the glands above her ovaries are hot, the gland between her shoulder blades, the one he’d bitten with tears in his eyes, is rioting  _ where is he where is he where is he where is he where is he  _ through her heart.

When it starts hurting more to come than not to, Rey gets off the bed.  Her knees are week, her head is spinning and she knows if she gets pulled over she’ll be in a  _ lot  _ of trouble because driving while in heat is considered a DUI in this state, but she doesn’t care she can’t care everything hurts and she just wants to see him.  She shoves another banana in her mouth before heading out into the garage and unlocking the car they’d bought together for  _ much _ below sticker price because Ben had scared the crap out of the salesman.

_ I’m coming to pick you up,  _ she texts him with trembling fingers and she sends her location to his phone.   _ I’ll be in short term parking.   _

She knows he’ll freak out when he gets those texts.  She knows his head will be full of  _ what if she crashes, what if she gets pulled over, I’m not there, oh god I _’_ m not there _ but she can’t think about that now, not when everything hurts and she’s desperate for him, for relief, for togetherness.

She has never driven more carefully in her life as she merges onto the highway.  Her body is in agony, her heart and mind are a riot of anxiety but somehow that makes it easier to focus on the road than usual.  She’s always been a good driver. She has amazing reflexes and it’s oddly calming, doing this instead of making herself hurt by trying to make herself feel better.  

She’s at the airport in forty minutes and pulls into the short-term parking structure, making her way to the very top floor which is empty except for two sleek looking sedans.  

She parks as far away from them as she can and presses the button for the car to remember Ben’s seat settings.  Then she gets out of the driver’s side and into the passenger seat, scoots her chair back as far as it will go and lowers the seatback until it’s nearly horizontal.  Only then does she text Ben.

_ Short term parking, fourth floor.  I love you. I’m safe. _

Then she closes her eyes and waits.

Everything hurts.  It’s a blur of pain.  Her uterus is so swollen, so empty, and it’s a little chilly in the car now that she’s turned it off, which only makes her feel more feverish.  She doesn’t look at the clock. She doesn’t look at her phone. She knows it’ll buzz when he gets her texts and replies immediately. Because he will reply immediately.  He will, he will, she knows he will. 

He does.

_ Fuck never do that again don’t put yourself at risk. _

_ I’m coming, sweetheart.  Stay put. Don’t leave the car, I don’t want anyone scenting you. _

She rolls her eyes at that.  She can leave the damn car if she wants to, and he can just  _ deal with it _ if he doesn’t like it.

Not that she wants to.  She doesn’t want to move at all.  

She does unlock the car door, though, and some time later, the door to the passenger side opens and he’s there, throwing his backpack onto the second seat.  Wordlessly, he fumbles for his belt and Rey tugs her soaking sweatpants down her legs and she doesn’t care if the drivers of the other two cars show up, or if security cameras catch them, because a moment later he’s easing his way into her and Rey chokes out a sob and wraps her arms around what parts of him she can reach and he begins to fuck her with abandon and this time, it doesn’t hurt.  This time, it’s delicious, the way he fills her, stretches her even through hours of heat arousal. 

She wraps her legs around his hips, wraps her arms around his neck and loses herself in the smooth feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her and the warm tremors that are spreading from her slit to her heart.  The scent of him—a little stale from the long flight—fills the car around her and she feels safe, he’s here, she can taste him on her lips, feel him in her heart, he’s here, he’s here. 

“You smell so panicked,” he growls into her ear as he goes.  “I’m here, sweetheart. I love you.”

She hadn’t even realized she was crying until he kisses tears off her cheeks.  “I’m here,” he tells her and he punctuates each syllable with a jerk of his hips.  “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

All Rey can do is groan, and her hands drop down his spine, past her legs to clutch at his ass, to pull him deeper into her as he goes.  She writhes underneath him, trying to feel the friction of his movements against her nipples through several layers of clothing. When he realizes what she’s trying to do, he eases himself up slightly, a hand on the seatback behind her and tugs her tank top down so that her breasts pop out.  She moans and arches her back and he pauses in his thrusting, pulling away slightly so that he can lightly bite one of her nipples before leaning down again and pressing his chest to hers and the fabric of his shirt against her oversensitized tits feels better than her own, somehow.

“I’m here,” he tells her again and he licks at the gland on her neck and she feels as though her whole body is vibrating now.  “I’m here. I’m here.” 

Maybe she’s imagining it, but she feels a drop of precum against her cervix and her eyes roll into the back of her head.   _ That _ is what she needs.  He is here now, she’s not alone, she has her Alpha and all she needs is—

“Alpha.  Please, come, Alpha.  Please. Please.”

It’s as though all she needed to do was ask.  

His knot starts to swell, his hips begin to stutter, his motions get more shallow, and he’s half-gasping from the sensation of it all. One of her hands releases his ass to slide a finger down along the crack, circling the tight muscular hole because the sensation of the surface touch alone has always been enough to make him—

He collapses onto her and Rey sobs with relief because there it is—there’s that sweet soothing feeling of his cum forcing its way through her cervix and making her uterus calm down for the first time in hours.  There it is, perfect, wonderful, heartfelt relief as she buries her face in his neck, her nose pressed right to his scent gland and she rubs her face back and forth against it while he keeps coming inside her.  Hers is the gentlest orgasm she’s had since her heat began. It doesn’t rip through her body, but it rolls over her like a gentle tide, and everything inside her—for a tender moment—is still.

“Hi,” she whispers to him at last and he kisses the side of her head.

“Don’t ever drive while in heat again,” he says sternly.  “Because the only thing worse than my missing a day of your heat would be us both missing all of it because some cop pulls you over.”

Rey shudders.  

“I know,” she says, but she doesn’t promise.  She refuses to. Because she doesn’t regret this.  She’s still riding that gentle wave of relief. She’s feeling too warm, too cared for in his arms to even begin to regret it.

“I love you,” he tells her.  “And when we get home, I’m going to—”

She cuts him off with a kiss.  She doesn’t need to hear him say it.  She can smell it in his scent, can feel it in the way his cock is throbbing inside her. 

She pulls away and he looks oddly nervous.  “I’m going to try and unknot fast,” he tells her carefully.  “I left my suitcase at baggage claim.”

“You what?”

“I wanted to get to you.” He doesn’t sound like he’s defensive about it at all.  There’s as little regret in his voice as there is in Rey’s decision to drive here.  “I needed to. But I didn’t pick it up which means I have to try and get it before we get home.  Will you be ok for another hour?” 

Rey takes a few deep breaths.  “I’ll probably get hot on the highway,” she replies.  “But masturbating might be fine now that I’ve got some cum in me.”

He groans and she feels him spurt a particularly long stream of cum inside her.  She grins and kisses the side of his face while he loses himself to the mental image of her masturbating in the passenger seat next to him, the scent of her need filling the car around them.  The car is going to smell like this for a long time. Somehow, she imagines that the scent of them has permeated into every surface of it.

His knot loosens at last, and he drives them out of short-term parking and over to the doorway by baggage claim.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he promises her, leaning over to kiss her.

She doesn’t let go of his lips and he lets her keep kissing him for a long while before saying, “I need to do this.  You’ll have all of me before you know it.”

Rey sighs and keeps kissing him.   _ I’ll come back for you, sweetheart.  I promise. _

_ I’ll come for you, sweetheart.  I promise. _

And before she realizes it, her fingers are between her legs.  She’s coating her fingers with his cum and her slick and reaching up and rubbing the mixture into his scent gland.  He groans and tilts his head to give her better exposure, and she does it again, and again, and on the other side of his neck before reaching up to rub it on his face.

“You want me to have a hard-on when I talk to TSA, don’t you.”

“Might make your case a little more understandable,” she teases.  “But I want everyone to smell it. I want you to smell like me. I want you to smell like us.”

Ben growls into her mouth.  “I will,” he says and at last he pulls away and there’s a gleam in his eyes as he says, “And you’d better, too, by the time I get back in this car.”


	4. I’m glad we did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mermaids, Oviposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one last week because I fell into Mermaid Hell thanks to afterblossom's incredible [Chibi Mermaid Comic](https://twitter.com/_afterblossom_/status/1065969705368711169). The final installment was posted last night so I had to post this today.
> 
> The comic is perfect and wholesome and delightful and lifechanging.
> 
> This fic is significantly less wholesome.

_ We shouldn’t be doing this. _

Her words hum through the water around him and for a moment, he pulls back, his eyes flicking between each of hers.

_ Get over here, you _ , and she rolls her eyes and reaches for him, her hand brushing over one of his pectoral muscles, rounding his ribs to his scapula and pulling him back to her.  She kisses him, and his mouth opens against her lips and no water rushes in because the kiss is firm, sealed. It’s just their tongues and the taste of one another.  No salt, no sea. 

_ Rey. _

Her tail waves back and forth almost lazily, and he almost wants to tell her to still.  He has her. He’s holding her. But the unconscious motion of her muscles to keep her where she wants to be in the waters has her rubbing her groin against his.

The sea is cold.

Cold, and dark.  Kylo has always felt safer in the cold and the dark than in the sunshine of the shallows.  Rey is a shallows mermaid, though. Her skin is sunkissed and her body is warmer, or so it seems to him.  He is warmer for proximity to her, and everything about him growing hot with the way that her groin is rubbing up against his.  

_ We shouldn’t be doing this,  _ she repeats,  _ But I’m glad we are. _

The sea is vast.  Kylo knows this. He has swum it all, and never felt so lost as he does now, his heart pressed to Rey, his tongue in her mouth.  He has never felt so adrift. He has never felt so moored.

Rey’s hands trail up and down his back as she undulates against him and he feels himself stirring beneath his scales.  

_ Rey,  _ he tells her as he bumps his hips against hers. Do you want this, he does not ask.  I want this, his motions show her, because how can they not? Surely she can feel the way the temperature of the water around them is changing because of her.

Her tail stills and she pulls away from him and for a fleeting second, the thought of what if this isn’t what she wants fills his mind.  But then everything goes blank because the sight have her has always left him struck dumb.  Her breasts are small, her frame slender, her muscles wiry and strong, her abdominal muscles pulling together in six neat little ridges. But it is her face that makes the water freeze in his gills. Her eyes are shining as she looks at him, and before he can truly register what is happening she is reaching a hand for him.

He raises his hand to meet hers, but it turns out she hadn’t been reaching for his hand—not the way she had when first they’d found themselves in that rocky encampment months before.  There is no  _ neither are you _ , no tentative touch of the palm.

No, she has reached for his member and is stroking it through his scales and he groans and closes his eyes and lets her.

No one has ever touched him like this before.  He’d even go so far as to say that no one has touched him since he came to his manhood, not even in battle.  No one except Rey and her magical palm and the way she brings warmth to the cold and light to the darkness. Her grip is firm, but not too tight.  And as his heart beats a little faster with each stroke, he wonders what it will be like when his scales retract and his cock juts out, soft and fleshy and vulnerable.  

_ Is this all right? _

He cracks his eyes open.  When had his head fallen back?  He lifts it and looks at her. She’s closer to him now, her torso a mere breath from his.

He nods, and she keeps going and this time, he doesn’t close his eyes.

He watches her, watches her watching him, watches the way her eyes are hooded, the lazy curve of her smile.   _ I like making you feel good,  _ she tells him.

_ Rey.  _

His hand traces the line of her scales.  Somewhere beneath, he knows, there’s a slit.  Somewhere there is an opening, full of moisture and Rey’s warmth.  He runs his hands along her front, as gently as he can, but he cannot find it.  

_ Please?  _ he asks her and the lazy warmth in her face tightens for just a moment.  Then the hand that is not cupping him through his scales takes his hand and guides it to—

There was a seam there.  He hadn’t noticed it. How could he not have, when there is a sticky fluid dribbling out from between her scales, her arousal growing quite as much as his with what they are doing.  He parts the scales and runs his fingers over the warm flesh and they both moan at the way it feels and he feels his member stiffen past his scales now. There are no words to describe the way that Rey’s hand feels on his flesh, no words to describe the warmth of her on his fingers as he begins to probe.

_ Kylo.   _ There’s a tremor to her saying his name.

When had they gotten this close?  He can feel the heat of her through the water between them, and there really is only a sliver of water.  How can ocean water be so warm? How can the sea swallow them whole and yet they both are still alive?

He brushes his lips against hers, and she twines the hand that’s not stroking him around his neck and deepens the kiss, her tongue against his, her heart against his, her hands always reaching for him.

_ Please?  _ she asks him, and who is he to deny her anything?  Has he ever been able to deny her anything? (Except that, he thinks sadly to himself.  Except coming home, except dragging the past up from the depths and trying to breathe new life into it.)

He withdraws his fingers from her and she lines him up to her entrance and her tail begins to undulate again.  His does too. Their hips move in time with one another, pressing themselves deeper into one another, keeping themselves afloat. 

Kylo has a longer tail than hers.  She is strong, but he is stronger. And it is not long before he has her pressed against a rock while he grinds into her.  She clings to him, and sucks on his neck, and nips at his flesh, and moans, but most importantly, she clenches around him, urging him on.  Fill me, her body tells him where her words will not. Make me your home.

Nothing has ever felt so right in his life as Rey, warm in his arms, warm around his cock, soft and safe.  He will forever remember what it feels like to be in a dark sea cave with her, holding her hand in his, but this—this is not that.  This is all of that and more. Hot and tight and wet—her very core seems to be everything he didn’t know he needed.

Except he had known.

He has always known that he’s needed Rey.

Her teeth nip at his ears, at his nose, at his collarbone.  Her eyes are closed, her lips are parted, her gills flared as she floods herself with water—all the better to breathe, all the better to keep control of herself.  She is pressing away from the rock and it takes Kylo a moment to realize why.

_ I’m sorry,  _ he says, pulling them back, pausing in the thrusting of his hips when they are away from the rock.  It has scraped her, but it hasn’t broken her flesh. 

_ I liked it,  _ Rey replies, almost shyly.  Somehow he suspects she’s more shy about that than she is that his cock is filling her right now, given how she’d grabbed it.   _ It made it feel raw. _

_ Raw? _

She turns them around and a moment later it’s his back to the rock now and he understands when she returns to the rocking of her hips.  The ridges of the rock scratch his back, heighten his every sensation until he’s babbling through the water to her—words that are wholly unconnected to one another except that they are all about her, how she makes him feel, how he wants her to feel.

Inside her, he feels himself swelling.  He feels his sac begin to tighten and he wonders if she knows, can feel how close he is too, because her hand drops down to cup his sac, to roll it between her fingers.  He wonders if she can feel them through the thin skin there. She probably can.  _ He _ can feel them, each bead, the pressure that’s building there as his body pushes more and more of them into the sac, as his tip buries itself deeper and deeper into the warmth of her, as his own gills flare to fill him with oxygen and water.

And he releases, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, the sea losing all its flavor around him.  Nothing exists except the way his cock is twitching, the way he can feel each empty egg leaving him and pressing up into her.  With every emission, pleasure rolls through him, and through the water, he can feel Rey shuddering in his arms.

There are twelve of them in all.  Twelve lifeless eggs that he fills her cunt with and as he holds her close, catching his breath, he feels her wriggling against him.

_ Is it uncomfortable? _ He asks her.

_ It’s not comfortable,  _ she replies.   _ It’s strange.  I’ve never been fertilized before. _

_ I’m sorry—I should have— _

Pulled out? Asked her first? Kept control of himself?  

_ No.  I’m glad you did.  I’m glad I had this of you.   _ Then she sighs.   _ But they need to go. _

He nods.  They can’t risk that.  His eggs may be empty and lifeless now, but the longer they stay inside her, the less likely it will be that they remain that way.

He pulls his cock out of her and all-too-quickly, it is receding into his scales.  He bends down to examine her slit. It has closed up tightly over the eggs and he looks up at her.  Her face is screwed up with effort and her eyes are bright.

_ They won’t—I can’t—They’re stuck. _

_ They’re very sticky,  _ he supplies quickly.  He knows from far too many experiences with his own hands.

_ What do I—can you—? _

He rubs along the line of her scales again until the slit opens.  Then he presses a finger inside her. He finds the first egg and rolls it slowly along the inside of her until it’s popping out of her entrance and floating in the water besides them.  Rey moans and he sees some of her own moisture seeping out of her and losing itself to the sea.

He finds the next egg, rolling it carefully and he looks up at Rey again.  Her eyes are closed and now it is her head that is tilted back, her cheeks that are flushed.  He had felt a wave of orgasm for every egg he’d laid in her, and now she gets to feel it too.

He presses a kiss to her stomach as he rolls out the next egg and this time—this glorious time—her muscles roll around his fingers, around his eggs, her hands tighten in his hair and the bubbles escaping from her lips burst forward a little more densely.  

_ Kylo _ , she moans as he sticks his fingers in to find the fourth egg.   _ Kylo, I— _

But he never hears the rest of whatever it was she was going to say.  She keeps on coming in waves that seem to grow more intense with every egg he rolls out of her.  It’s not long before she’s bucking against his hand, before she’s clinging onto him as if her life depended on it, as though everything about her existence is fixated on her cunt, his fingers, and his seed.  

By the time he rolls the last egg out, she is spent—spent and floating in the ocean’s current, his eggs floating around her like stars, her hair billowing, her eyes unfocused.  He kisses her slit and licks it closed again before kissing his way up her stomach, between her breasts to find her lips again.

_ We shouldn’t have done that,  _ she tells him.   _ But I’m glad we did.   _ She peeks her eyes open and looks up at him through her lashes.   _ I hope we will again. _

_ Yeah.  Me too. _


	5. Scar Tissue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldo Ren, and a whole new meaning to the phrase "giving head"

His skin is mottled, but Rey will take it if it means he’s alive.  He shouldn’t have lived, shouldn’t have survived the fires of Mustafar, but he had.  He had and he had survived how much pain while they’d tried—desperately—to save him.

It wasn’t even that no one deserved to die like that—though no one did.  It was that Rey couldn’t bear it that he die. Tears had streamed down her face as she’d used every ounce of unknown strength, begging the balance of life and death that the water of her tears would balance out the way his head was on fire.

He’ll never grow hair again.  The skin on the top of his head is not soft, but his eyes close whenever Rey touches it.   _ I’m hideous _ , he had told her.  He wears a hood now, the way he had when she’d first seen him, prowling masked through the forest on Takodana.  The fabric sits low on his head to hide the red and rippling flesh that had once been a scalp full of long, dark hair.

Whenever she helps him from his cowl, she kisses it.  He looks up at her, pressing her lips to his head and nervousness dances with hope in his eyes.  She has not abandoned him. She has not spurned him. She loves him, even in this form. She wants him, as much now as she had when she’d slapped at the flames that were burning his hair and clutched his limp body to her chest, not letting him die, daring him to live, daring him not to leave her.

She rubs lotion onto the scar tissue, and he leans his head forward to rest against her shoulder, his eyes closed, his breathing steady.  As she rubs, he begins to mouth at her collarbone, sloppy, unintentional open-mouthed kisses that make her smile. Her smile only widens when the kisses get more intentional, when he draws her skin between his teeth, when he makes her sigh.

His hands come to her sides and he trails the backs of his fingers along them.  Somehow his touch is lighter like this than when it’s his fingertips. She can feel the bumps of his bones passing over her and it sends a shiver across her skin.

When she’d been on Jakku, she’d dreamed of someone who could make her shiver with anticipation.  When she’d been on Mustafar, she’d feared that dream was going up in smoke.

But it didn’t.

Ben’s lips travel from her collarbone to her neck and he sucks on the skin there for just a moment before kissing his way down her sternum.  He rubs his nose between her breasts, and the leathery skin of his head against the sides of her breasts somehow makes her nipples pebble. “That feels nice,” she tells him.

He stops rubbing for just a moment, tilting his head to look up at her.  “Yes?” he asks her.

And she bends down again to kiss his burn scars.

Down and down he goes.  He peppers her with kisses—each scar, each freckle, each ridge and dimple.  Some are light—barely the ghosted touch of his lips against her skin; some are heady enough to bruise.  

He has marks from her.  Marks from her lightsaber slashing his face, the scars that cover his head the way that hair once had.  The only marks he’s ever given her have been these bruises, loving bites that make her feel as though she’s his—as much as he is hers.   _ I won’t leave you,  _ they say—not that they are ever in places that anyone could see.   _ You’ll never be alone again.  I’ll kiss away the aches and pains you shouldn’t have had to bear so young.  You’ll never know them again. _

He’ll never know them again either.  

When his tongue finds her slit, she sighs and runs her hands over his head.  She finds spots of tenderer skin—thinner, less scar tissue—and massages it. She moves her fingers in time with his tongue at first—mimicking the motions he makes against her clit.  But it’s not long before her heart is pounding in her chest and her fingers stutter across what had once been his scalp.

There’s something powerful about hot and cold.  The room around them is cold, because space is cold, but Rey’s heart is beating as hard as it had on Mustafar, when she had been unable to breathe because it had been hotter than anything she had ever experienced.  She is not as hot as she was on Mustafar now, but Ben’s tongue makes her forget the cold as he licks and licks and licks. 

He circles her clit the way she’d once seen wind sweep up circles of sand, he slides it into her folds, exploring the darkness there as Rey had explored caves and the corpses of dead Star Destroyers.  He makes her feel so very alive as her fingers scrabble over his head, over his ears, along his neck, as she closes her eyes and lets the warmth of him overtake her.

Warmth—that’s what it is.  Not the oppressive heat of the desert or the lava.  Warmth—human warmth, human connection that she’d longed for.  They are connected by more than just the Force, by more than just his tongue, drinking her down as though her cunt is an oasis in the desert.  His nose nudges at her clit and she sighs and rocks her hips against him. 

And then she feels something different.  She knows the feel of his tongue, and fingers, and nose.  She knows the heel of his hand, the bulk of his thigh, but this—

This is different.  The skin is firmer, but textured and when she cracks her eyes, she sees him on his elbows and he’s rubbing the top of his head along her slit and Rey lets out a moan.  

“Is that ok?” he asks her, his voice slightly muffled.

“Ben,” she groans and her hands reach down to the spot where his neck meets his skull and she rubs briefly at the muscles there before pulling him closer, rubbing her slit against him as best she can, feeling her lips splay over him, feeling the way they drip over his skin until he’s coated in her and the warmth in her heart, in her cunt, truly starts to burn.

She mewls and goes still and lets the waves wash over her.  Waves now. Warmer waves than the ones she’d nearly drowned in on Ahch-To.  Waves that come from her, as though she were some sea goddess, and the rolling of the seas are no more or less than being loved for all you are.

Ben kisses his way back up her stomach.  He sucks on one of her breasts for a moment and hands come to rest on the top of his head again.  She rubs her juices into him, the way she’d rubbed the lotion earlier. Let her be the one to quench the fires.  Let him drink her in and grow into who he was meant to be—a garden, a forest that they nurture and cultivate together.

His lips find hers at last and he tastes like her.  Rey pulls him close, and reaches down low and grabs hold of him, pumping once, twice, three times, and kissing him as he slides home.


	6. Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant setting - Vaginal Fisting

Rey swallows.

“Hey,” he whispers and he kisses her forehead.  “We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” she responds at once.  It had been her idea, after all. Her kink.  Her dirty, dirty mind. But her heart is in her throat.  

“You just look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she lies—lies until his soft brown eyes boring into her make her squirm her way towards the truth the way they always do.  “It’s just—happening. You know?”

He kisses her forehead again and she can hear the way he’s breathing harder than usual.  “Try and relax,” he tells her. “That’s supposed to help, right? Relaxing?” 

Relaxing, yes.  

That and everything else they’ve done to ease themselves towards this.  But the fact that they’re actually going to  _ try _ ...no—not try.  Do or do not, there is no try.  That was something Ben had taken to saying lately, with a look of determination on his face, though admittedly not about this.  Rey’s stomach twists.

“It took me like four or five times before I could relax around your dick.  Your fist is a lot bigger than that. Kind of hard to relax when I know what’s coming.”

Ben looks down at her, concerned.  He knows that—about how it had taken her a while to feel comfortable on his dick.  They’d talked about it—he’d felt it, known it, because she’d been stiff, because he can always tell, somehow, when Rey’s  _ it’s fine _ -ing and when she is actually fine.  Sort of like how he had just done it.  

“We don’t have to do it tonight,” he begins again.  “If you’re not ready—”

“I’m ready,” Rey says and her voice doesn’t shake this time.  “Are you ready?” Because he’d needed to work up to it too. He’d been afraid of hurting her, because he’s always afraid of hurting her.  He’d hated that sex had started out painful for her because she hadn’t known how to tell him he was just  _ really big _ and they hadn’t had enough foreplay.

His lips find hers and he kisses her gently, deeply.  Carefully, he leans her back on the bed until she’s got her head resting against the pillows.  She closes her eyes, and settles against them. They’re soft. Rey’s still not used to soft. Especially when her heart is in her throat.  

Ben kisses his way up her legs, his fingers tracing little circles into her skin.  He widens her legs when he gets closer to her cunt, and she opens her eyes, watching him settle in.  

His eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful.  She’d stopped feeling guilty that he gave her orgasm after orgasm after orgasm this way when he’d only come once because of the look of peace he gets on his face when his lips are pressed against hers like this.

She runs her hands through his hair and he opens his eyes and pulls his head back for just a moment.  “I have you,” he whispers to her. “Let go.”

And she lets her eyes flutter closed again.

Ben’s tongue is a magical thing, long and strong and flexible.  It curls around her clit, lightly, then forcefully, then lightly again.  He licks along her outer folds, then her inner ones, then slides his tongue inside her and curls it up to stroke against that spot that his dick only really hits when he’s fucking her from behind.  

Rey’s hands clench in the blanket underneath her.  She’s supposed to be relaxing, but how can she be relaxing when Ben’s doing this, when her heart is already starting to drum against her chest, in her ears, in her gut.

He withdraws his tongue and replaces it with two fingers.  They move gently inside her and his tongue starts to tease.  She knows he’s teasing because he knows damn well he can put more pressure on her clit than  _ that _ .  She whines without meaning to and she feels him huff in amusement against her.  “Warming you up, sweetheart.”

Warming her up.

Because this isn’t how he usually fucks her, this isn’t his usual teasing.  He’s trying to get his whole hand inside her. 

She opens her eyes again and looks down at him.  

She loves his hands.  He’s using the hand she’d reached for in that hut, the hand she’d seen her future in when the Force had confused them both with such clarity.  And his hand is huge—just like the rest of him.

“Deep breaths,” he whispers to her and she does her best to settle.  She can settle. She knows this. She survived Jakku, survived loss and heartache.  She can be the calm in a storm, and she can relax. 

This isn’t so different from normal.  It’s not. Except usually when he’s licking her, she’s got her fingers threaded through his hair, or maybe his cock in her mouth.  Usually when he’s licking her there’s a heat hotter than the desert sun in her groin and Ben’s just stoking it until the waves like the Ahch-To ocean crash through her.  Now, he has two fingers inside her, and his tongue and lips alternating tentative love against her clit. Now, he is rubbing his hand gently, not trying to coax her towards an orgasm, but to arouse her more deeply than he usually tries to because he is impatient, just like she is.

He spreads his fingers ever so slightly inside her and she reaches a hand down to run through his hair.  He pauses in licking her and looks up. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah,” she says.  “I just want to touch you.”

He gives her the softest smile, the corners of his lips quirking up, his dark eyes a pool of emotion that makes Rey’s throat tighten even as she smiles back at him.  He turns his face into her palm—the palm that had reached for him on that stormy night—and kisses it. Then he withdraws his fingers.

“What are you—”

“Glove,” he said.  “I think it’s better now, right?  To get you used to it.”

She pauses, considering.  He’s probably right. It would potentially break momentum later.  So she nods and clambers across the bed to where they’d placed several folded towels.  She spreads them out under where she’d just been lying as she sees Ben crossing the room again, a black medi-glove—as thin as skin—on his hand.  His cock is starting to swell, but that doesn’t surprise her. He always gets ridiculously aroused when he has his lips to her cunt. She supposes the only reason it’s not jutting out, fully swollen, is that he’s a bit nervous too.  

Rey sits up and pulls his face to her lips.  She kisses his forehead, kisses his nose, kisses the scar she’d given him, kisses his lips the longest of all.  Then she settles back down on the bed and spreads her legs again while Ben squirts a liberal amount of lubrication onto his gloved hand.  

She lets out a hiss when his fingers slide into her again—three of them this time.

“Too much?” he asks her sharply.

“No,” she says.  It’s the truth. It feels good.  Three fingers has always felt good from him.  “The lube’s cold.”

He frowns.  

“Not a big deal,” she adds.

“No, but it’ll tense you up every time I add more,” he says, his brow furrowed.  

“It’ll be fine,” Rey tells him.  “Really. I’m not delicate.”

“No,” he agrees, “You’re not.  But this is.”

She doesn’t know if he means what they’re doing or her cunt.  Her cunt doesn’t feel delicate, that’s for sure—it feels strong.  He doesn’t usually seem to think of it that way either, judging from the usual vigor with which he fucks her.  She wonders if it will still seem strong after this. 

The bottle disappears out of Rey’s line of vision and he turns back to her cunt, massaging it with his gloved hand.

She hadn’t noticed right when he’d put his fingers into her, but the glove feels different.  It’s smoother—his hands are calloused—but it’s also...she can’t quite decide. It’s not the biggest difference in the world.  She’s sure that under other circumstances, she wouldn’t even notice. But right now, she notices everything. 

She tries to relax again.  

It’s hard.  

She doesn’t know if that’s because of the glove, or because the way he’s touching her now is so different from the way he usually touches her.

She’s always thought of Ben’s touch as reverent—as though he cannot believe, even after all the times they’ve slept together, that he can touch her.  He’s not used to being touched, he’d told her. Her touch means everything to him. But ordinarily, when he’s touching her, she’s touching him too. The reverence gets lost in passion and need and so very much love.

Not so now.  Not even when she threads her fingers through his hair again when he drops his lips down to kiss her once more.  Now, there’s only reverence and it’s—

It’s a lot.  It’s more than she knows what to do with.  This bubbling warmth that she feels inside her—not just that she’s wanted, and loved, and safe, and protected, but that he would do, will do, has done all he can do to protect her—that he’s doing all he can right now because she’d gotten this hare-brained scheme in her head that she should—that he should—

“More?” he whispers to her.  

“I think so,” she replies and she takes a deep breath as she feels him bring the three fingers he has in her already a little closer together and adds his pinkie.  

Rey groans.  

This is more than his cock.  Those four fingers. Or at least it feels like it.  She’s sure it is. She hears him squirt more lubrication onto his gloved hand and this time, the lube isn’t cold.  

“How?” she asks him. 

His thumb brushes her clit and she moans.

“I’m keeping the bottle between my legs,” he tells her.  She opens her eyes again to look up at him. He’s serious.  

She feels herself grinning and he gives her a crooked smile.  “It’s not a hardship and it means you won’t get cold.”

Slowly, Rey eases herself up to sitting again so she can kiss him, doing her best not to change the angle of her hips.  She pulls his lips down to hers and smiles into them. He nips at her lower lip. She sucks on his tongue. She can taste herself there.  

When she’d been young and lonely on Jakku, there had been many nights where she’d fumbled herself towards relief.  She knows her scent, knows the taste of herself—curiosity had driven her to place her damp fingers between her lips and suck on them.  But she likes it best on Ben’s tongue, his breath mixing with her essence, his heart and hers. 

“Love you,” she mumbles into his lips.

“So very much, sweetheart.”  There it is—that reverence in his tone.

With his free hand, he leans her back down onto the bed and Rey closes her eyes again.  Her body is oddly relaxed. Her body trusts Ben. Her body knows Ben won’t hurt it. 

But her heart is racing and she can’t tell if it’s adrenaline or something else.

She looks up at him and he’s watching her closely as he eases his hand so gently into her—slowly, tenderly.  He is thumbing her clit, and rubbing along her legs with his free hand, but it his eyes that have her heart racing.  No one has ever looked at her like that. No one has ever loved her like that.

_ You’re still holding on.  Let go!  _  he’d shouted at her on the bridge.  

_ Trust me now.  You can let go,  _ his eyes say to her silently.

And she’s coming—sharply, unexpectedly, the muscles in her stomach contracting and her hips bucking onto Ben’s hand so that those four fingers slide into her a little more deeply.  Her cunt is gripping his fingers as though afraid they’ll leave but Rey knows Ben will never leave her. Not ever. 

And if he does, he’ll come back.  He’ll always come back.  _ I’ll come back for you, sweetheart, I promise. _

She’s gasping for air, her veins feel hot and cold, her muscles feel both relaxed and tense.  

Ben’s still got his thumb on her clit and he’s watching her closely.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks her.

“Yes,” she tells him.  She can come more than once in a session.  In fact, Ben frequently will make sure she does.   _ One of us has to take advantage of not having much of a refractory period,  _ he’d joked about it.  Rey’s ready for more within minutes where it takes Ben hours sometimes to be ready for a next round.  

“Do you need a moment?” he asks her.

She takes a deep breath and does her best to assess.  “Maybe more lube?”

He takes the bottle out and squirts it directly onto her cunt, and she can feel it dripping down over her folds, to rest on the glove of his hand.  He pumps his hand gently again and Rey feels so pleasantly warm. It’s stretching, yes, but the good stretching, and even as the thought fills her mind, she feels herself relaxing more around his fingers, feels them probing in a little bit deeper into her.  

“Thumb?” she asks him.

“You sure?”

“I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”  Because she’s not sure, but she thinks she’s ready.  

He pulls his fingers halfway out and Rey isn’t watching him, but she knows what gesture he’s making with his hand.  He’d shown her, when they’d talked through it, pulling all his fingers together like a beak.  _ It won’t help with my knuckles, but it’s something, I suppose, _ he’d said, a crease between his brows.  How she loves him for never wanting to hurt her—especially not when he’s trying to love her.

And he’s loving her now.  His other hand is on her clit again, rubbing the lube he’d squirted onto her over her flesh and she lets out a moan because between the stretch of his five fingers and the way that he’s rolling her clit between his fingers, all she can do is tilt her head back and take deep breaths.  She feels both warm and cold again, feels her breath coming in ragged and shallow again, and fuck she’s coming, she’s coming with a “Ben,” and a gasp and her hands reaching up to cup her own breasts, though whether for pleasure or stability, she’s not sure.

Her cunt is rioting around his fingers, flexing and pulling him in deeper and he keeps moving his hand slowly, gently, pressing his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, stretching her out, but oh it is a delicious stretch.  

“I love you,” she whispers.  “Ben—I—” but the words catch in her throat because she’s opened her eyes and he’s just looking down at her as though she’s everything in the world.  He has half of his hand inside her, and he’s staring at her as though she is the moon, and stars, and so much more than just a scavenger orphan from Jakku.

He looks at her like she’s everything.

And there are tears in her eyes, which she rubs away because  _ why _ does she always cry?  Why can’t she ever just not cry.  But it’s a lot, being looked at like this, watching as he does this to her, for her.

His hand is steady.  

The rhythm of it is calming.

She’s sure that’s why he’s doing it, why he’s moving as slowly as he is.  Nothing to catch her off guard, everything is safe, everything is in control.  She can let go, she is safe in his hands. She believes that. She knows that. She feels it in the warmth she’s feeling.  Usually when she’s come twice, she’s cuddled up to him, ready for rest.

She doesn’t feel that now.  She is feeling anticipation building in her heart again, slowly bubbling up through her from her cunt to her lungs.

He twists his hand a little bit and the texture of his fingers against her opening makes her whole body start to tremble.  “Keep doing that,” she tells him, and he does. He times the motion with his other hand circling her clitoris until she’s gasping and arching off the bed.  She feels like she can’t stay still, like the only way that she can handle what this all feels like is to arch her spine up—something that’s never happened to her when she’s not coming.

Her hands find her breasts again and she grips at them, twisting her nipples between her fingers.  She moans out his name again, she rocks her hips against his hand, pulling him in deeper because deeper, yes, he can go deeper, she can feel this deeper, she wants to feel this deeper.  She loves him so deeply already, she can take more. She wants more. 

And she’s coming for a third time, a cry of pleasure ripping its way out of her throat.  This time, she’s bucking onto his fingers. She’s not trying to stay still. She feels like a wild thing, a safe thing, a loved thing.  She feels like she can do anything—she knows she can do anything. She wouldn’t be here, right now, if she couldn’t do anything.

Her heart is still thudding, her lips have relaxed into a smile and her eyes drift open to look at him again.  His reverence is palpable in his eyes, but this time, it doesn’t overwhelm her. This time, when she sees it, she takes a deep breath, and whispers, “More?”

“It’s just the knuckles left,” he tells her quietly.  

And she nods.  

His eyes flash, understanding, and his lips part slightly, as though unsure what to say.  His eyes say it all.

_ I love you,  _ she sees there.

_ I can do this,  _ she sees there.

_ Your trust means everything. _

He reaches down again at one point and adds a little more lube, moving his fingers from her clit to trace them around the edge of her opening, only a breath away from his other hand.  

She doesn’t close her eyes as he does it.  She bites her lip, and takes deep breaths, and tries not to groan out because she honestly for the life of her can’t tell if this is pleasure or pain.  She’s heard people say that pain can be pleasureful—she’s never really thought about that until now. Moments before she’d been sure which it had been, but now, when he twists his hand carefully, as he strokes along her labia because her clit is too sensitive right now, she—she—

She doesn’t know what she’s thinking.

She doesn’t have words in her mind anymore.

Just Ben.

Just the feeling of his hand, pressing deeper into her, spreading her wider, and wider, that hand she’d reached for, that hand she’s kissed, that hand she loves.  He adds more lube, and he keeps looking between her eyes and her cunt, checking constantly, looking for any sign of  _ this is too much _ .

It’s not too much. 

It’s a lot.

But it’s not more than Rey can bear.  She has born so much in her life, and when she hears a hiss escape Ben’s lips, sees his eyes snap up to hers for a reaction, she knows he’s fully in her—that he’s done it.  That  _ she’s _ done it.  

“I’m going to make a fist,” he tells her, and she nods and her eyes roll into the back of her head.  She lets out a moan as she feels his hand balling up inside her and her hands tighten on the sheets on either side of her.  She hadn’t even realized they were there. She hasn’t been aware of her body the way she usually is since the last time she came.  She’s only been aware of her cunt, of Ben’s hand, of her thrumming heart.

She takes a deep breath and eases herself up on her elbows because she wants to look and—

“ _ Fuck _ .”  

His wrist is buried in her cunt, wide and veined.  Is she imagining it or can she see a slight bulge in her lower abdomen from where his hand is clenched?

“Ben,” she whispers and she reaches a hand for his free one.  He takes it and squeezes, and when she looks up at him again, there are tears in her eyes.  “Ben.” It’s all she can think to say, over and over again.

He kisses her, leaning forward as best he can with his hand as occupied as it is.  He sucks on her lips, the hand not inside her caressing her breasts, running up and down her side.  She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his touch, has wanted and needed his touch until this very moment.  

She rests her forehead at the crook of his neck.  The muscles in her abdomen are trembling again, but she doesn’t want to let go of him, not yet.  She’s tired and sweaty and flushed, and Ben’s hand is inside her. His hand is inside her. 

When she does, at last, lean back against the bed, she lets her eyes trail down his body.  

He, too, is flushed and sweating, and his cock is so hard, jutting out from his hip like that.  She sees it twitch when his gaze drops back down to his wrist coming out of her. 

“Touch yourself,” she tells him and his eyes are back on her now.  “Touch yourself. I want to come with you.”

His face splits with several emotions.  The first is his heart swelling, that she wants him to feel loved as he does this for her; the second is utter derision because never in all the times they’ve fucked have they come at the same time.

But his free hand cups his cock and his lips quirk in a smile.  “Conveniently already lubed,” he jokes as he begins to pump and Rey lets out a breathy laugh.  Even breathing, she can feel his fist. 

“Ben,” she sighs and she tries so hard not to come.  Every motion, every moment that he’s inside her like this, she feels like she’s standing on a precipice, and that one false move, one ill-timed breath, and she will fall apart more profoundly than she’s ever fallen apart.

“I’m coming, sweetheart, I’m coming,” he tells her, and she knows he doesn’t mean it that way.  He means that he’s following her, that he’s close behind her, that she’s not alone.

_ Neither are you. _

And her whole body convulses from it, and tears well in her eyes, and everything is bright, and hot, and sweet, and safe, just like it had been in that hut.  Everything about him, everything about them—it has always been in the palm of their hands and she reaches for him, knowing that his hand is occupied, that he’s coming with her, that he’s—

He takes her hand, and for a moment, the word  _ no _ is on her lips because she wants him to come too, she wants him to come with her, she wants him to feel just a little bit of what she’s feeling right now.  But then she feels heat spattering across her chest, hears his groan of pleasure, and maybe he had meant it the other way. It doesn’t matter though. Because they're not alone.

Vaguely, she’s aware of him easing his hand out of her.  It stings a little bit, but he kisses the sting away gently.  

She hears him take off the glove and throw it away.  She feels him ease the towel underneath her between her legs to soak up some of the lube before pulling it gently out from under her and wiping his cum off her chest.  

Then he’s gone.

Only for a moment, though.

_ I’ll come back for you, sweetheart.  I promise. _

He curls around her and pulls her to his chest and presses a glass to her lips.  “Drink,” he tells her, and she does. Water has never tasted sweeter.

“Ben, I—” 

But she doesn’t know what to say.  The weight of everything is hitting her again, the reverence, the trust, the feel of him like that.  What can she say, to capture everything in her heart?

He kisses her temple, and she turns her head until her lips find his and that is enough for now.  She can say more wordlessly with her lips, because what words are there for her to say—not when everything is swirling feeling.  He understands that. She can feel it in his lips too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, Rey is a champion among champions.


	7. Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon Compliant/Divergent - skinny dipping & subsequent activities, praise kink, tooth-rotting fluff tbh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t try this at home kids you’ll be at risk for UTIs and shit. But it’s fanfiction so let’s let them live the dream.
> 
> Thanks to bitterbones for prompting a discussion that led to this fic in the RFFA NSFW chat.
> 
> Formal shoutout to ReyreyButt, whose birthday it is today and who made [this delightful piece of art art a little while back](https://twitter.com/ReyreyButt/status/1074339326392029185)!

She stares out over the lake and it’s like the first time on Takodana.  She’s never seen this much water in her life, everything is soft in its warmth, soft in its brightness, the sun rippling off the waves like that.  It’s beautiful—like the single gemstone she’d once seen in Unkar’s vault. 

“You coming?” 

Rey feels his breath against her neck, warmer and gentler than the wind, and tilts her head to the side to let him kiss her neck.  His arms wrap around her middle and he pulls her against his chest. He’s already shirtless, and Rey closes her eyes and lets herself  _ be _ for just a moment.

She’s used to waiting.  She’s used to not letting herself feel anything at all as she sits in the too hot, too dry, too uncaring world.  This is different though. This is like a dream. This is like nothing she’d ever thought she’d deserved.

He does let go of her slowly, his fingers trailing along her arm as he passes her and goes to the water.  He drops his pants by the shore and she gets a really lovely view of his ass. Like the rest of him, it’s firm and muscled and he casts a glance over his shoulder to see her looking and smirks slightly before wading into the water.

“Come on, then,” he calls to her when he’s waist deep, turning around.  His hands are resting on the surface of the water, his long fingers spread out.

Rey’s feet begin to move before she’s aware that they are.  She tugs her shirt up over her head and loosens her chest bindings enough to do the same.  Out in the water, she can feel Ben’s pleasure at the way her small breasts drop and bounce as she tugs the linen up, emanating from him in waves just as gentle as the rippling lake’s.  She bends down next, shucks off her trousers and then walks out into the water. 

Just as Ben promised, it’s warm, the plant-life growing out of the bottom of the lake brushing almost lovingly against her legs.  The water level rises up and up until she feels it fluttering right at the tip of her lower lips, and she pauses to enjoy the way it teases.  Ben cocks an eyebrow at her, and smiles. He knows why she’s stopped. She hasn’t guarded her mind or heart from him today. 

“It feels nice,” she tells him.

“I know.”

He’s still several feet away from her.  His legs are longer than hers, and his hips are fully under water.  He holds out a hand to her and she lowers herself into the water and paddles inelegantly towards him.

Ben had taught her to swim—her and Finn both.  He’d been patient and had only mocked them a little bit, which had led them both to splash him until he’d begged for mercy.  Or had pretended to. Somehow, Rey got the impression that he was humoring them, because he’s a strong swimmer and Rey still can’t do much more than doggy paddle.  

She stands next to him, dripping, and he hums happily as he bends his head to kiss her, a hand coming to cup her wet breast.  “You have no idea what you look like, like that,” he says, “All glistening and bright and dripping.”

She flushes.  

She’s not used to it—not used to the way he’ll say things like this sometimes.  That she’s beautiful, that she’s unbelievable, that she’s everything he’d never known how to let himself want.  She knows he’s not used to it either, when she says the same thing about him. That’s why she takes a deep breath and kisses him deeply, resting her hands on his chest while his tongue brushes along her lips and she relishes the warmth all around her—the water, the sunshine, Ben.

Then she shoves him into the water.

He yelps and she laughs, diving back down and paddling out, aware that he’s going to catch her fast.  And he does, his arm wrapping around her waist easily and tugging her to him while she wriggles and giggles against him.  

“What was that for?” he asks her, his lips against the shell of her ear.  He nips lightly.

“I wanted to,” she replies, still a little breathless.

“Base betrayal,” he huffs.

“I’m not sorry.”

“Of course you’re not, you little barbarian.”

She giggles again and pulls herself out of his arms, treading water next to him.  Then she stops and looks down.

“Rey?”

“They’re...floating.”

He blinks at her.  He’s tall enough to be standing here, which means Rey can probably tip-toe.  She chances it. The bottom of the lake is slimy from dead leaves, but Rey doesn’t care about that.  She cares that her breasts are floating right in front of her chest as though they’re weightless. 

She pokes one.  It jiggles in the water before floating back to where it was before.  She pokes it again. And again. And again. 

She hears him laughing quietly and looks up at him, and the teasing in his eyes fades almost at once to something deeper, something sweeter.  “I didn’t know they’d float,” she says. The  _ I’ve never been in the water naked before _ goes unsaid.  In her swimming lessons with Finn, they’d both worn bathing togs.  

“They float,” he says quietly and a moment later his hand is brushing against them too, testing the weight of them in the water.  It feels nice. The water makes his hand—and her breasts—both look so much bigger than they are. 

“Is your penis floating?” she asks him and he sputters in surprise.  He forgets that Rey can be blunt in a different way than he can be. He’s emotionally blunt, she’s physically blunt and they both keep pushing at the other.

“Yeah, a little bit,” he says, his cheeks a little red.  

And Rey reaches out to touch it, bobbing gently in the water.  “I’m not used to it bobbing when it’s flaccid,” she tells him as she touches it.  She doesn’t usually touch his flaccid penis, in truth. He’s usually very quick to arouse and by the time his dick is in her hands, he’s already about three strokes away from coming.  It’s oddly squishy.

It doesn’t stay oddly squishy.

She loves Ben’s eyes.  She loves how expressive they are, how she can look at them and see multitudes.  She sees so much in them when she looks up at him as she holds his now stiff penis in her hands.  Love, amusement, passion, bewilderment that she’s there with him, that she is touching him, that she wants him, that she loves him.  

She lets go of his cock for just a moment and the expression in his eyes flickers.  “Is it still floating?” she asks quietly.

He rolls his eyes.  “My little scientist.”

“I’m not that little.  Just because you’re freakishly tall—”

He doesn’t let her finish, though.  His lips crash against hers and she wraps her arms around his neck, because he’s planted firmly on the lake’s bottom and she’s on the tips of her toes and he can be her anchor.  She feels him throbbing hot against her belly and she laughs into his lips. “Definitely not bobbing now.”

He lets out a noise that could be a laugh or a groan of annoyance before he presses his tongue into her mouth and she’s quite sure he’s not going to let it go for a while.  

She’s fine with that.

Her breasts are no longer floating because they’re pressed against his chest, and she feels that sort of glowy feeling she gets inside when she’s happy—not the happiness she’d spent so long pretending was there to hide away the darkest parts of her pain.  Really and truly happy. She feels like she’s brighter than the reflection of the sun on the lake as she kisses him and presses her tongue against his, swirls it and dances with it. 

His cock twitches between them and she smiles slightly as she begins to rock slightly on her toes, rubbing him between their stomachs.  His breath hitches, his hands on her hips twitch as though he can’t decide whether to help her motions or make her stop.

“Will your cum float in the water?” Rey asks him, and he sputters a laugh against her lips.

“How highly are you prioritizing finding out?” he asks and his cock rubs between their bellies again.  He’s doing it this time. She can feel him feeling good, and it makes her glow more. “Because if I’m going to come, I’m prioritizing coming inside you.”  Rey shivers, and he smirks down at her because he knows it has nothing to do with the cold. “Maybe one experiment at a time. Next time can be what happens to my cum in the water.”

“Deal,” Rey says and she places her hands on his shoulders.

She feels so light, easing herself up through the water.  She feels his hand between them, stroking at his cock and then guiding it towards her slit, and she sighs as she sinks slowly onto it.  Slowly, because the water isn’t going to let her move as quickly as she wants. An unforseen challenge that she sees registering in his eyes quite at the same time that it’s registering in hers.

“Just a little added resistance,” he says, nudging himself in a little deeper.  “Nothing we can’t handle.”

Except that Rey likes going fast.  She likes the feel of him losing himself completely inside her, of going harder and faster and hotter until they’re both spinning into ecstasy.  He’s smirking down at her now, as though he can—because he probably can—read her mind. 

“You really think I can’t fuck you fast just because there’s water?”

“You’ll be sore later.”

“So will you—and it will be worth it.”

His hands are on her hips and he’s guiding her up and down his shaft now and she sighs and grips his shoulders a little harder, them to ground herself as she moves as well.

It feels different in the water—the way his skin moves against hers, the way it warms hers.  The heat is tempered, she is cooler, and even as her heart starts to race, she doesn’t feel as though she’s drowning in heat.  

The water splashes a little bit around them—softer than the usual slap of his legs striking hers as he thrusts into her.  The water mutes the sound of their skin, the squelching she can feel between her legs as he fills and voids her doesn’t reach her ears.  Her hair is dripping wet down her neck, and the sun is warming her face and hands and she can feel Ben’s heart thrumming in his chest as she rubs against it.

His lips are brushing over the shell of her ear again, whispering words to her—words more than sentences because he loses all coherence when he’s inside her.  “So good,” and “Rey,” and “Gods, you—” before his lips drop to her shoulder to kiss their way along it. 

Rey keeps bobbing up and down.  Her legs are used to this now—the difference in motion required, the support in some ways and challenge in others.  She can feel him twitching inside her, feel the his motion getting more and more erratic, feel the way pleasure is building in him—because she can always feel when pleasure is building in him, and he’s feeling too good to be able to hold back anymore.  

He comes apart with a groan, and he buries his face in her neck while he breathes and recovers.  Then he slowly pulls out of her, but he keeps his hands under her ass, holding her close to his chest.  

“You didn’t come,” he says quietly.  Usually feeling him come through the Force is enough to bring her over the edge if she’s close enough.  She’s heard people scoff at the concept of coming at the same time as their partners, that it never happens—it has only ever happened with her and Ben.  She doesn’t like the shame, the fear that she feels radiating off him now. He had been so happy up until this moment. 

“It took me too long to get used to and then you were too far ahead,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his eyebrow.  He mouths at her neck, then nuzzles his nose against hers. “Next time, I’ll be more prepared.”

“All right,” he says, “But we’re talking about  _ this _ time.”

“It’s—”

“Not fine,” he interrupts, and to her surprise he’s let go of her.  He’s pulling away from her and Rey stares at him, confused.

“Ben?”  But he’s got his hand on the small of her back now, is easing her torso up through the water so she’s floating on top of it, her legs on either side of his face.  “Ben! I’m going to sink if you—”

“I’ll cheat,” he says and it’s not just the water, or his hand holding her up now.  The Force is beneath her, pushing her gently up every time her body starts to sink and Ben’s face is between her legs and she stares up at the sky overhead while her fingers weave through his drying hair.

It is blue, and there are white puffy clouds.  The sun is bright, but not too bright, strong but not too strong.  There is water all around her, and someone who came back for her and who loves her.  Her breasts float in the water, and her legs are aching already from the way she’d had to move while they were fucking.  Life isn’t as she expected it to be—it’s better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bathing togs](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bathing_togs)


	8. Deepthroating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern Setting - Deepthroating, Fellatio, Masturbation

_ Senator!  Do you have a comment on Senator Solo’s remarks that your naive idealism is more likely to destroy the country than fix it? _

_ I do not, Kaydel, but I can assure you that if Senator Solo is looking for root causes in the destruction of our country, he need look no further than his party’s refusal to acknowledge the backbreaking poverty that one in five children are born into in this country.  It’s not like he’s actually proposed any solution to that, has he? _

 

Things the junior senator from Arizona will never say on the record: that she loves the way the senator of Connecticut’s cock feels against her tongue.  That silky smooth skin, clean and soft and fragile enough that she can feel his blood pulsing through its veins—there’s nothing in the world like it.

Senator Solo is leaning against his desk and Rey is on her knees—again.

She remembers when she was younger, hearing some of her foster father’s friends saying horrible things about women.  It’s part of what makes her the rabid feminist that she is, remembering with nothing but loathing in her heart every word that had come out of their mouths.  But they’d been wrong about one thing—she’s not “in her proper place” when she’s on her knees in front of Ben Solo. 

She’s never felt more powerful.

She rubs her nose along it and it bobs a little bit and she hears him make a noise as though clearing his throat.  He doesn’t want to make a sound—not with his secretary just on the other side of the door, not with half his staff listening at the keyhole, half-expecting them to dissolve into a shouting match as they’d almost done during a floor debate on capital gains.  

And she smiles, and does it again, looking up at him as she reaches his tip.  For a moment, she hovers there, rubbing over the crown of his cock. Then she drags her nose back down along his shaft and she can see in his face the way that his stomach dropped, the way that he had wanted her to do it.

Not yet.

She’s the one in control right now.  Not him.

Which is why when she reaches the base of his cock again, she bobs her head slightly so that she can suck his balls into her mouth.

And there it is again—that throat-clearing sound, but with a little more voice to it this time, like he’s trying not to whimper.

 

_ What Senator Johnson forgot to mention in her remarks is that we’ve seen these sorts of social experiments happen multiple times in the past century across the globe.  They’ve all failed tremendously, and do you know who they’ve failed the most? The poor she would have us think about. Communism crushed the working poor. Anything else you believe is just buying into communist propaganda. _

_ And what Senator Solo fails to understand is the communist regimes of the twentieth century were based around failed political models.  Socialism is an  _ economic _ structure, not a political one.  And we can maintain the liberties that are at our nation’s foundations while also acknowledging that capitalism has left collateral damage in its wake over the course of the past century as well. _

 

She likes his balls too.  They’re hairy, which at first she’d thought was sort of gross, but now she doesn’t mind.  It only adds to the textural experience, and part of what she likes about this is the contrast of the textures.  Ben Solo is harsh, and cruel, but his cock—even when stiff—has the softest skin she’s ever touched. His balls, which are tight with his arousal now, are a little muskier in flavor, and the hair growing from them is rough on her tongue, which will make the smoothness of his cock that much more wonderful when at last she decides it’s time.  But not just yet. There’s something so wonderful about feeling the way what’s underneath rolls on her tongue, between her teeth. 

Conservatives have been calling her a ball-buster ever since she first got elected.  

They have no idea.

Or rather—Senator Solo knows, but hasn’t shared his knowledge with the rest of them.

He doesn’t put his fingers in her hair.  He keeps them on the desk as she kneels down in front of him.  He’d tried doing that once and she’d swatted his hands away and said  _ we’ll get caught.   _ Because Finn’s got eagle eyes and had already noticed that sometimes she came away from meetings with Senator Solo with eyes that were a little too bright.

He doesn’t guide her at all, he doesn’t say a word, he just looks down at her, and she looks up at him as she lets his balls pop back out from between her lips.

She licks along the underside of his dick and his eyelids flutter for just a moment.  She circles the tip of it as though she is licking the filthiest of lollipops before she drops her jaw and sucks him down, hollowing out her cheeks so that the tip of his cock will rub against the soft inside of her cheek. 

He clears his throat and his pupils are so blown that his already dark eyes are positively black with need.   _ Faster _ , those eyes beg her.

_ More. _

_ Please. _

So she moves as slowly as she can, because that’s what Senator Solo likes, isn’t it?  Things to move so slowly that there can’t ever be any progress?

 

_ Oh, that’s not true, Niney, Senator Solo and I agree on plenty.  For example, we agree that I think he’s a fascist and we agree that he thinks I’m a communist.  Wouldn’t you call that some common ground? _

 

“Please.”

He begs out loud, and Rey looks up at him.  His eyes are unfocused. When he looks like this, it’s impossible to think of him the way he is in the committee room—all force and fire.  Even if he’s wearing the same suit now that he was then—and oh, how well tailored his suits are, and how well he fills them out—the effect is completely different.  Now, there’s nothing forceful about him. Now, he’s the one on fire.

Rey smiles up at him and slowly pulls his dick out of her mouth.  She pumps it as she looks up at him, rubbing her saliva over him. His cheeks are flushed and even as he looks down at her, she twists her hands very lightly in opposite directions around his dick and he bites his lip and flares his nostrils.  

“Please what?”

“Rey—” and her eyebrows fly up.  He takes a deep, shaky breath, and says in a voice so low she can barely hear it, “Please, Senator.”

She licks the tip of his dick again and then slides him into her mouth again.  This time, she relaxes her throat and it’s not long before he’s in there down to the stem, her nose now buried in the coarse dark hair at the base of his cock.  She nuzzles it for just a moment, and then begins to bob her head.

Once, she’d been afraid that this act would choke her, make her gag, make her vomit, make her feel small and used and worthless.  But no. No, she knows that when she does this, nothing in the world matters to him anymore. Nothing but her mouth, her throat, the way that she feels around him as he tries so hard not to make a noise.  

She loves the way it feels—him sliding along her tongue, hitting the back of her throat and then going down further.  She loves the way he smells, sweat and sex in his pubic hair. She loves the way she can see, out of the corner of her eyes, how his grip on his own desk is so tight that his knuckles are turning white.  She loves the way his hips are starting to jerk unconsciously towards her face. 

She looks up at him and his head has fallen back.  She suspects his eyes are closed, his lips are open, but she only has a good view of his throat right now, bared to her though she knows he won’t think of it that way.  

He’s starting to come undone.  And Rey’s heart beats a little faster.

She wonders if he can feel her pulse on her tongue the way she can feel his.

It’s when the movements of his hips get a little more frantic that Rey reaches a hand down and presses two fingers past her underwear.  She’d worn a skirt today for precisely this reason—it’s easier to finger herself when she’s in a skirt than when she’s in a pantsuit and she rubs her pointer and middle finger over her clit in practiced circles.  She’s slick and hot and her heart jumps with every motion.

Above her, Ben is trembling.  His dick is twitching in her mouth and when she looks up at him again, he’s watching her.  She presses particularly hard against her clit and her eyes roll into the back of her head as pleasure washes through her and a moment later he’s coming right into her mouth with a muffled gasp because he’s taken one of his hands off the desk at last and pressed it against his lips.  

She loves the taste of his cum—tangy and bitter and real.  She loves the feeling of his dick pulsing inside her mouth, and the way he cedes his last vestige of control to her.  She loves the way he’s still watching her finger herself on her knees, and she loves that she knows he is imagining her riding his cock, no need for fingers or silence.  Just the two of them—something neither of them will ever know.

She comes while he’s still going limp in her mouth.  She helps him tuck himself back into his pants and he helps her back to her feet.  She sprays some perfume from her purse over her hands as he rounds it again to take his seat.

“Now, Senator,” he begins.  “The chairman—”

“You can tell Senator Snoke that he can take his legislative agenda and shove it up his ass,” Rey says nonchalantly.  “Are we done here?”

“Are we?” he asks her quietly.

“Until the next time, Senator.”


	9. Your heart and mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergent/compliant - intercural sex

“I’m sorry,” she whispers as she flinches away from him again.  

They’re lying on his bed, both of them completely naked.  It is the third time they’re trying to have sex, and it is the third time that Rey has flinched away because…

 _Sex should never hurt,_ Rose had told her firmly after the first time they’d tried.   _Never.  Not even your first time.  If it hurts your first time it’s because you’re not ready._ Rey had thought she’d meant ready emotionally, had protested, and then Rose had cut her off, saying, _No.  Not that way.  Physically ready.  You’ll need more foreplay._

So they’d tried more foreplay.  They’d kissed and sighed and rubbed themselves against one another.  He had stroked at her sex with long and dexterous fingers, he’d even slid one, and then two, inside her before trying his cock again, but the moment it had been his cock and not his fingers, Rey had tensed again, and it had hurt, and she had pulled away and he had kissed her neck and taken deep steadying breaths and she had felt the crushing weight of disappointment.

Fumbling fingers had brought them each to climax.  Then fumbling tongues—neither of them fully aware of what they were doing, but paying as much attention as possible to the way the other was reacting to their ministrations.  But each time, there was that feeling of _this wasn’t what we set out to do_.

 _I want to feel your body against mine,_ Rey had thought as he’d licked at her slit. _I want to feel your breath, and your heart._ Because even when it was his hand between her legs and not his tongue, she wasn’t close enough to feel his beating heart.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again.  She’s still holding him close, her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs still spread underneath him.  She can feel the hot, heavy heat of his cock, the weight of it now against the seam between her thigh and hip.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers to her and he kisses her.  His lips are so soft, so reassuringly warm, and he traces his tongue along the line between her lips until she opens them and he can push in, stroking her tongue with his.   _If only it were that easy,_ she thinks as she shifts her legs underneath him.  She’s wet—so wet she’s positively dripping. But that isn’t enough, apparently.  “It’s all right.”

“It’s not,” she tells him and he pulls away from her long enough to give her a stern look.

“You think it’s not all right just because I can’t fuck you?”  He sounds oddly stung.

“We both—”

“Want it, yes,” he says, “But I already have all of what I want.”  He traces his fingers along her cheeks. “I have you. And sure, I want that.  But I want _you_ more.”  He kisses the tip of her nose.  

But already, Rey’s mind is spinning a little too hard.  What if he’s just saying it. What if he thinks he means it now, but days, weeks, months later perhaps, he grows tired of it and leaves her, the way that everyone always leaves her?

 _Or maybe he means it.  Maybe he’s just content to have someone who loves him for all he is,_ a defiant voice shouts at her anxiety with the same force that Rey had once used when berating Luke Skywalker in the rain.

She takes a deep shuddering breath.

“I just want to feel your heart against mine,” she whispers to him.

“Well we were always going to have trouble with that,” he says and she can hear laughter in his voice.  He’s trying to make her feel better and already he’s shifting, lining his torso up against hers. It’s longer than hers by more than a few inches, and she can only feel the very tip of his penis when he’s lined his heart up to hers. “Even without the fact that our hearts mirror one another.”

“Oh shut up.”

“I still can’t be inside you with your heart parallel to mine.”  He kisses her, and a moment later he has rolled them over so that she is lying on his stomach, on his chest, her hips wide now because they have to wrap around his legs.  “But if that’s what you want, this will probably be—” And he freezes, frowning.

“What?”

His hands, which had been on her hips moments before are now rubbing at her slit again, curiously.  She closes her eyes, and sighs, preparing herself for him to finish her with his fingers, taking deep breaths and listening to the sound of his beating heart pulsing through his veins as she rests her head on the pillows against his.  

“Your heart won’t be against mine,” he whispers.  “But it can be close. Is that ok?”

“Hm?”  She lifts her head to look at him.  Ben has a light to his eyes that she doesn’t fully understand.

“Is that ok?”

“It was silly—”

“It wasn’t silly.  Is that ok?”

She lets out a huff, though she can’t tell if it’s amusement or if it’s appreciation.  Then she nods.

He eases her hips down a little bit so that she can feel his cock—still hard, and thick, and hot, and heavy—sliding along her slit towards her ass.  Then, carefully, his hands find her thighs and he lifts them so that they’re closed on either side of his cock. Then he starts to rock his hips underneath hers, sliding himself between her legs.

“Ben?”

“Is this ok?”

She props herself up on her elbows, looking down at him with a slight frown.  

“Yes, but—”

He lifts his head to meet her lips, kissing her slowly, his tongue sliding between her lips once again, and he keeps on rolling his hips underneath hers.  “Is this ok?” he asks her again, his lips ghosting against hers, his breath warm, and a little shaky.

And his cock slides between her legs and Rey takes another breath.  Then she crosses her ankles to help keep her legs closed and he lets out a groan and now his hands are on her ass again, massaging it, kneading at it.  She can feel his heart racing against her chest and she feels her own swelling, feels it picking up speed too.

Or maybe that’s because she’s started grinding her hips against him too.  Because instinct—or perhaps yearning, or maybe just desire—is telling her that if she rocks her hips against his, she’ll feel better too.  More than better. She’ll feel sweet heat spreading up her body to her own heart, the way his fumbling hands and fumbling tongue had managed to make her feel before.  

“Is this ok?” she asks him now.  It’s so strange to feel how wet she is between her thighs right now.  His cock is splitting her slit, though, and her arousal is dripping over it and spreading down around his skin.  Which only makes it feel better having him there. And when she arches her rear back to try to grind against him with that sweet spot, he lets out a groan and his fingers tighten on the flesh of her ass and that’s all the answer she needs.

“Ben,” she murmurs to him, kissing the base of his neck, kissing along his collar bone.  Her hands are on the bed on either side of his torso, to make it easier to rock against him with.  She starts to move more quickly, as quickly as she can with her legs as still and closed as they are.  She arches her back because with every motion, she can feel his cock rubbing against her in a way that makes the air around her seem to hum in anticipation, because when she does it she can feel his movements start to lose their rhythm, feel them fall out of time with his heart.

His heartbeat is overwhelming now.  She can feel it pounding through her body as though it was her own.  Or perhaps because her own is now perfectly in time with it. Her heart, his heart, and the way she is throbbing now around him as her blood roars in her ears and warmth sweeps over her entire body as sweet relief fills her.

She goes still, her head against his chest and it is not long before he goes still too, with a choked gasp, and the feeling of his spend shooting up across her ass and over the backs of her legs.  

They lie in silence for a moment, and slowly the sound of his heartbeat fades to a quiet pulse beneath her.

“You have my heart,” he whispers to her.  “Always. Always always.” And he wraps his arms around her.

“I want you inside me,” she whispers back, but before the words can hang too heavy in the air, can dampen the warmth she now feels, she adds, “But until then, so long as I have you.”  She wriggles slightly in his arms so that she can nuzzle at his neck, and she lets herself fade towards sleep, warm and content.


	10. Crash of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant/divergent freudian psychosexual bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA
> 
> In which Ben Solo really doesn't deserve this and the author is a trashbag.
> 
> If you aren't as into the fact that Kylo Ren is an oedipal mess as I am, this might be one to be wary of.
> 
> If you are HAVE FUN I SURE DID.

It’s a crash of fate, her lips meeting his.  

He has expected it for far longer than he’s understood, but never thought that it would, in fact, happen.  He is standing there one moment, his hand resting on the lintel overhead, leaning more because he can than because he needs to.  Her eyes are bright, and he sees the way they drop to his lips and there’s dry anticipation in his mouth the way there always is when he looks at her.

But this time, their lips meet.  She lurches up the few inches and he drops his head down a few and his fingers grow tight on the lintel overhead as everything in his heart and mind goes still for one moment.  It’s just him and Rey in this ship. There’s no ghost of Uncle Luke telling him more ways in which he has failed, there’s no echo of his father’s laugh, there’s no shadow of his mother around the corner.  Just him, and Rey—her lips and his, and a crash of fate they’ve been resisting for so long.

It’s hard not to stumble, hard not to fall, but both are too stubborn to let the other’s lips go as they move through the ship.  He is hunched over, she’s on the tips of her toes, and he keeps his hands on her waist as they move, to keep her from losing her balance.  But of course Rey doesn’t lose her balance—she is precise in this, as in all things, but he overcompensates and when they’re maneuvering around the corner of the captain’s quarters, it is he—not she—that loses his balance.  She lets out a concerned noise down in her throat, and manages to say, “Ben—careful—” against his lips as he steadies himself. His hands leave her hips and he brushes the backs of his fingers over her cheeks.

“Always,” he whispers to her.  Because he means it. 

He remembers from another life, from the other side of death, Rey sobbing as she’d clutched him.  “Don’t go,” she’d begged.  _ Come back,  _ he’d heard in her mind the first time he’d probed it.  And so he had. How he had, he did not know, wasn’t sure he’d ever know, but he had come back for her, and he would never leave her again.  He would be careful with himself in a way he never had been if it meant that Rey would look at him the way she does now—almost dazed, almost shy.

It was once a bunk, the bed in the captain’s quarters.  It’s carved into the wall the way the other bunks on the ship are too—but it is wider, it juts out, enough for two people.  When he’d been a boy, he had trailed from his bunk to his parents’ whenever he’d been cold, whenever he’d woken up from nightmares, whenever he had been afraid of the dark.  He doesn’t know if it was his father who had extended the captain’s bunk out for him and his wife, or if it was something Uncle Lando had done back in the days when the Corellian YT-1300 light freighter had belonged to him.  It had never occurred to him to ask. And even now, the question fades from his mind because he is easing Rey onto the bunk—wide enough for both of them—and her hands are running up and down over his chest. 

Is she reaching for his heart when she does that?  Or does it just feel that way when her hands pause, and his heart thrums a little more strongly, as though reacting to her proximity?  Or, perhaps, most likely, she’s remembering the way he is now how words had failed her, how her cheeks had flushed when she’d seen him shirtless that time the Force connected them.

He smirks into her lips, and it has to be that one because she pauses in kissing him just long enough to say,

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

The Force is an unpredictable thing.  No one ever can, no one ever will know all its secrets.  Which is why when Ben hears his father’s voice coming out of his own lips he freezes.  

She is kissing his neck now, along the neckline of his shirt and her dark hair has come loose from her braids.  Braids? Rey doesn’t wear braids. Functional half-tails or buns, but never—

“Rey?” he asks at the same time that his father’s voice says, “—eia?” and it’s only because Rey’s hazel eyes are looking up at him that he’s able to take a deep breath.  Hazel, not brown. Her hair is shorter. Her face is a different shape. She’s here with him, and whatever echo is happening.

“Can we—”

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong?” he hears his mother’s voice—younger than he remembers hearing it in years.  He starts when he feels a hand on his face, but it’s just Rey, tracing her fingers over the scar she’d cut into him.  

“Maybe not here.”

She looks around, confused.  Then some light in her eyes fade.

“Oh,” she says quietly.  “I—” and she’s pulling away from him and panic floods him and he does the only thing he can think to do which is push her down on the bed, flatten her between him and the mattress, and kiss her as deeply as he can.  She lets out a surprised squeak, and her arms wrap around his neck. His tongue dips into her mouth—tentatively, he’s heard about doing this far more than he’s experienced doing it himself—and she sighs and begins rubbing herself against him in a way that makes him groan into her mouth.

“You can’t keep doing that,” he says and his voice is breathy but his father’s is a little smoother.

“Oh?” Is it Rey who is being playful, or his mother?

“I don’t have that much self control.”

And she smirks, and kisses him, and keeps doing it.  

“Reya.”  Her legs are wrapping around his hips now, locking herself against him and he’s lost in it.  Lost in the warmth of her. Maybe if they just don’t talk anymore. Maybe if it’s just him and Rey, the rest will fade away and he won’t be haunted by ghosts and echoes anymore.  Maybe he can just be alone in his head.

“Hon—”  Ben jolts back, “—ney?” Brown eyes now—eyes that aren’t his mothers, but are.  A face that’s not his mothers, but there are things about it that are similar.  Curlier hair, a slightly different curve to her lips.   “Is everything all right?”

“I love you,” and it’s not his father’s voice this time.  He takes relief in that. 

And it’s Rey’s lips that smile up at him, brown fades to hazel and she runs her fingers over his cheeks again.  She kisses her way up the front of his neck, nipping at his Adam’s apple, at his chin until her lips are against his.  She sighs, and he can feel the way emotions are swirling in her, relief, elation, security, hope, love.

_ Love _ .

Love so bright he’s almost blinded by it and has to screw up his eyes as he feels her hands drop to his heart again.  Love so bright that it’s hotter than the Tatooine sun, that it’s—

Tatooine?

He’s never been to Tatooine. 

He opens his eyes and Rey has faded again.  She has curly hair again, and she is smaller than he is, but not fragile, not breakable.  He’s seen her fire blasters with deadly precision. She’s risking everything to be here with him now.  Has anyone ever loved him this much? Has anyone ever thought he was this worth it? 

_ Padm _ -“ey.”

And he’s back there with her, his fingers tracing along the scar on her shoulder, the one she’d gotten while they’d fought for their lives, while she’d been so determined that he could be hers that she’d thrown herself right into the bowels of the beast.  His Rey, his brave, beautiful Rey. Rey. Rey, Rey, “Rey.”

“Ben,” She moans into his lips and her hands are dripping down his front to where his shirt is tucked into his pants.  She tugs it loose and now her hands are under his shirt, rubbing over his skin, reaching for his heart again. Her hands are so warm, and soft—a princess’ hands, sure, but she’d snuck a shot at that stormtrooper to save his life, even if she’d been shot herself.  And who was he to think he would ever have a princess touching him, even if she’s a princess of nothing anymore. His princess, always and forever, with her hand on his heart as she kisses him senseless.

Senseless.  This is all senseless.  But he loves her, he feels free with her for the first time in his life.  His love, his everything, his wife—

Ben opens his eyes again.  His heart is pounding in his chest, and Rey is there beneath him.  He nuzzles his nose against hers.  _ If I just open my eyes every now and then.  If I just stay here—with her—I’ll be free of it.   _ Because Rey always made him feel as though he could be free.

She sighs and opens her eyes again and he loses himself in them, or maybe he’s losing himself to the way she’s rubbing herself against him, her groin to his groin, her heart to his heart, heat and force and balance swirling around them in his parents’ bed.  

“Are we doing this?” she asks him quietly and the echo in her voice is answered by an echo in his.

“I think we are.”

“Good,” she replies.  “I want to.”

And with that she pushes at his chest and he willingly rolls onto his back.  She can’t sit up fully in this bunk. It’s designed for sleeping, not for straddling the captain of the ship, though idly he wonders if the next time they do this, she might rest her feet on the overhang.  It will probably make it easier to get some momentum and tension. She’s so beautiful, her long hair hanging down now that it’s out of her braids. She’s tugging her dress up over her head and—

Rey’s breasts are beautiful.  Small, and her nipples are tight and dark and Ben sits up and buries his face between them, kissing her chest and looking up at her.   _ Rey _ , he thinks firmly.  She runs her hands through his hair.   _ Rey.   _

Hair brushes against his face and he wills it away.  Rey’s hair isn’t long enough to brush away from his face.  Her hair is shoulder-length, and mussed, not crimped from being tugged out of braids.  He kisses his way across her chest to her nipple and somewhere above him he hears her sigh.

“That feels nice.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

Her hands are in his hair, carding it, getting locked in knots he hadn’t realized were there and slowly loosening them.  She drops her head forward and rubs her face against his hair.

“I love your hair,” Rey murmurs.  “It’s so soft.”

He opens his eyes and tilts his face back up and then he’s kissing her again.  He’s kissing her and her hands are tugging at his shirt and he breaks the kiss long enough for her to be able to tug his shirt up over his head.  He lies back down on the bunk, and lets his eyes drip over her.

His Rey, his beautiful Rey, straddling his hips. Her breasts are flushed, her cheeks are pink, her eyes are bright.  She’s too thin, but she’s always too thin. Somehow, he thinks that no matter how much she eats—and oh, she can eat so very much—she will always be too thin.  Lean muscles are visible under the skin just above the waistline of her pants.

And if he catches a ghost of a tuft of pubic hair out of the corner of his eyes, he’ll blame the Force and the past for that—not Rey.  Never Rey. 

She bends forward and now it’s her lips against his chest, sucking on his nipple, laving it with her tongue while the other hand squeezes his muscles.  He runs his hands through her hair, and he feels it curl between his fingers. He smiles. He’ll never not love the way her hair curls. He’s seen it tied and coiled in every which way, but it curls when it’s left to its own devices.  She curls, in her truest form. The way her tongue is curling across his skin.

Her breasts are brushing against his chest and Ben reaches a hand down to unbutton her pants.  He slips a hand down between her legs and she is hot and wet and soft and she mewls a little against his chest.

“This ok?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Because if it’s not—”

She gives him a look that is so reminiscent of his mother that he doesn’t really know what to do with it at all.  His mother’s expression in Rey’s eyes. He feels his face heating, feels his penis twitch uncertainly in his pants.  Then Rey’s expression changes and she nudges her hips towards his fingers.

“Please—go on.”

So he does.  He does while her breathing gets a little shorter, a little less steady, while her lips leave his chest so she can bury her face in his neck.  He holds her close with one hand and with the other, he brings her closer—closer to him, to her, to them. 

He does his best to get the angle right.  He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He hasn’t done this before and is trying—desperately—to ignore some memory that’s not his own that the Force is summoning up for him—a memory of a memory that was and was not one from this bed.  Rey keeps wriggling against him, and sighing, her breath against his neck coming in short hot spurts, and the ghost of someone else’s breath on the other side of his neck, the ghost of another moan, a name moaned, a long vowel ending in a longer  _ nnnnnnn _ .

“I need to get my pants off,” Rey whimpers into his neck.  “I want to—I want—”

So they sit up, and Ben watches as she shimmies the pants down around her hips and off her legs.  They get stuck at her boots and she curses, and he helps her get her boots off before tugging the pants off and kissing his way up her legs, stopping inches away from—

It’s pink, and surrounded by coarse brown hair, and is so wet that it’s positively glistening.  He runs a finger along it and he hears three groans echoing throughout the cabin. He presses his lips against it and Rey’s hips buck unexpectedly towards his face.  “Sorry!” she yelps out when her cunt collides with his nose but he just kisses her again, and again. He kisses her until she’s breathless and moaning, until he’s sure that the moans he hears are just Rey’s because the other echoes are silent now.  

He lets himself glance up and his heart stops in his chest.  Her face is framed between her breasts, she’s biting her lower lip and her flush is spreading across her entire body at this point.  Space is cold, but they are warm together and he’s never seen Rey look like this. He has seen her smile, and laugh, but he think that those are just to distract her from her own pain sometimes.  She looks  _ carefree _ now.  

And he surges up her body to claim her lips with his and her arms are around him, and her legs are around his hips and she’s rolling him back onto his back again, rubbing her chest over his, rubbing her heart against his, rubbing her cunt—through his pants—against his cock.  

His hands and hers fumble together at the waist of his pants and it’s only when hers reach down under the fabric to pull him loose that his fall away, go to her hips, her legs, her something because she’s holding him, she’s really holding him.

He twitches in her hand, and he swallows.  He can’t look away from it—from her holding him, from the way she’s lightly rubbing her fingers over him—soft and calloused at once.  

“Hey,” he says—he thinks he says.  It might have been “Rey,” and he hopes with every fiber of his being that it’s not something else.   

“It’s so…” she murmurs and he drags his eyes away from her hands and up to her face.   She’s watching him and her eyes are bright. “It feels so good.”

In just her hand—the hand that had reached for him in his dimly-lit bedroom, the hand that had thrown her lightsaber to him without realizing just what it means to give another warrior your lightsaber, the one that had summoned his lightsaber from his hip to her hand to begin with.

“I—”

“Can I—”

“Please I—”

And she bites her lip as she guides him into her and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his life.  He’s never known heat that’s not oppressive, the horrible hot suns of the Tatooine desert, the magma that plagues his nightmares sometimes.  This is a wet heat, a human heat, a heat like summer rainfall only better, so much better, because Padmé’s there.

No—not Padmé.

Rey is watching him when he opens his eyes.  She’s not sitting straight up—there’s not enough room for that above them.  Her head is tilted to one side, her eyelids are hooded, and her lips are parted and she’s moving now—or maybe he’s moving her, his hands on her hips guiding her along his shaft, sliding her up and down because she is wet enough that the sliding is easy.  

His heart is in his throat, in his cock, in her hands as she rests them on his chest again.  He is being reborn in this, he knows. How many ways has Rey brought him new life, and this is just one more way, her head falling forward, her lips mouthing at his collarbone, inconsistent, semi-coherent “Ben, I—oh—” coming from her lips.

He is groaning, hardly daring to say a word, afraid of what’s going to come out of his lips.  The only thing he’ll allow is an inconsistent “Ey,” his mouth wide, no consonants allowed in case Rey becomes Padmé, becomes Leia.  He’s feeling all of them somehow, and none of them. He is himself, and yet not anything close to himself as he weeps for freedom, as he hardly lets his twice-broken heart beat for hope that this woman this— _ are you an angel? _ —this princess—his sand scavenger and Jedi knight—

And it’s over too soon, his ears aware of the sudden echoing silence as he overwhelms himself in her.  He is too sensitive for her to keep her sliding and his fingers lock on her hips while he focuses on breathing.  He eases out of her slowly, pulling her down into his arms and there’s nothing there, just the two of them in his parents bed, no ghosts, no shadows, just them.  

“Sorry,” he whispers as he digs his fingers between her legs and begins to rub.  This he’s supposed to do, but now that the memories he tried so hard to ignore aren’t battering at his every defense, he has no idea what he’s doing.

Rey only sighs though and begins rocking her hips against his fingers.

“Don’t be,” she whispers and kisses him until she comes.


	11. That Brings New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant/divergent - pregnancy, pregnant sex, past miscarriage

Ben leaves the fresher to find that Rey is already lying in the bed. She’s watching a holovid—a series that Finn had put her onto a few years before. She’s got a smile on her face, but the screen of the holo is casting light on her face that makes the dark circles under her eyes that much more pronounced.

She hasn’t been sleeping well. She’s always had nightmares—though never the same sorts of nightmares that he dreads even to this day—but they’d gotten more pronounced lately. Sometimes he’ll wake to hear her pressing her face into the pillow, sobbing quietly as she reminds herself that she’s awake, that it’s a dream, that _they’re_ alive and elbowing her in the bladder the way they’re supposed to and not streaming out of her in blood and misery.

And of course, when she’s not dreaming of losing them, they’re elbowing her in the bladder or kicking her in the kidney and she wakes up with huffed  _ ow _ s and has trouble getting back to sleep.

_ Worth it,  _ she tells him when he wakes to find her awake.  _ So very worth it. _

She glances up at him as he crosses the room, her eyes dropping from his still damp chest to the line of his towel wrapped around his hips. 

He crawls across the bed to curl around her, resting his hand on the swell of her stomach and rubbing against it.   _ Twins,  _ he thinks idly sometimes.  _ Two of them. Like my mom and— _

“Good episode?” he asks her.

“Sort of silly,” she replies. “Whoever wrote this has never spent any time in a desert. Look at what they’re  _ wearing _ .”

Ben does and snorts. “Not effective.”

“They’re skin’s gonna burn off.”

He keeps rubbing his hand over her stomach. One of them stirs under his hand, and he reaches out with the Force to it and it settles again.  _ I’m here,  _ he tells it.  _ Your mom and I are both here. We will always be here. _

Rey turns her head and kisses his cheek, and he knows that she’d caught the contour of the thought. 

“I’m scared,” she whispers against his cheek, and his arms tighten around her.

“What of?” he replies quietly.  _ Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering,  _ the ghost of Master Yoda had once told him. He can’t imagine Rey leading to suffering—unless it was her own suffering, somehow. And he would never allow for that. Not ever.

He anticipates part of the answer. How can he not? “That something that will go wrong,” she tells him. Because everything had gone wrong three times now, and lives that hadn’t begun yet had ended in blood and tears—and that wasn’t even counting the countless times that they had tried, and failed, to conceive to begin with. “Or that I won’t know how to love them because I—”

“Stop it,” he tells her firmly.

“—never had a mother.”

“You wouldn’t want to be the sort of mother you had,” he growls. “So I take that as a good thing.”

“That everything’s going to change—and I know that it will have to, because they’re...because we’re—” he hears her not putting words to it. More fear, he’s sure. “But that it will change in a way that makes everything harder. That we’ll lose each other, that we’ll—”

“I’m not going to leave you,” he tells her. “I won’t. And you’re not going to lose me even when I’m here. I couldn’t do that to myself, much less you.” 

She takes a deep shuddering breath, and then another one. 

“I love you,” she mumbles. 

“You’re the bravest person I know,” he tells her. It’s not the first time he’s told her this, nor will it be the last. They had known that parenthood would be hard for both of them, that they had too much pain from their own youth that they would have to unpack and confront. He had known what his would be—but Rey had always been the sort to hide her own pain from herself, and so no matter what they had expected, it had been far harder than either of them had wanted. And yet she’d soldiered on, through miscarriages and misconceptions and everything until she was lying there, frightened, in their bed, her stomach swollen like a ripe fruit and filled with life, and love.

And fear.

“You’re not alone,” he tells her again, just as serious as the first time. This time, there’s no returned  _ neither are you _ because she knows that he knows he’s not alone. Her hand still finds his, though, and squeezes it as tightly as she can.

He kisses her slowly, tenderly, his hands brushing her greasy hair out of her face, with gentle strokes. He feels her breath coming out of her nose against his upper lips, short shuddering tremors of air that let him know that she’s trying not to cry. 

He keeps kissing her, his tongue slipping into her mouth and twining with hers, his thumb tracing along her throat, along her collarbone, then up her neck again. Slowly, her breath evens out. Then she pulls away from him for just a moment to put the holo onto the bedside table.

Then her arms are around his neck and she’s pulling him as close as she can and her tongue nudges against his lips.

“One step at a time,” he tells her because he also needs to tell himself. “One step at a time.”

She nods and her hands come to rest on his chest. He knows what she’s going to do before she does it, and his hands drop to rest under her stomach as she turns onto her side. She hates the feeling of her pregnant belly rolling down as she changes position, feels as though her stomach might rip open—irrational, perhaps, but he also understands the fear. He’s always felt her feelings more acutely than he knows what to do with, and he’s not entirely sure that that’s because of the Force. So he guides her stomach gently onto the bed as she turns and then rubs at it while she kisses him.

He loves the way she looks when she’s pregnant. Some part of his hindbrain loves what his children have done to her form. She’s no longer scrawny, no longer an odd combination of too thin and unbelievably muscular. She’s rounded, and heavy. Her breasts are much larger and her nipples a deeper red than before and he tugs up the sleeping shirt that she’s wearing so that he can press his face between them and suck at her sternum. He has taken a particular pleasure in rubbing lotion all over her every day to keep her skin from marking too heavily from the way it’s stretching around her, and he feels her sigh with relief when his face nudges against the sides of her breasts. Her fingers begin to card through his hair as he kisses his way from her sternum, around the swollen round of the breast, to the nipple that is sticking out farther than it used to, undoubtedly preparing to feed. 

He locks eyes with her when he takes it into his mouth and sucks, and she lets out a soft, “Oh,” as his other hand comes to circle her other nipple. What a life-giving wonder she is, his Rey. How she breathed new life into him from the moment he saw her in Takodana. He loves the way the skin of her nipple feels under his lips—soft, and warm, and smooth. He flattens his tongue against the point and drops his spare hand down between her legs to begin to rub there and Rey sighs and spreads her legs slightly and reaches down and pushes the towel he’d honestly forgotten he was wearing away so that she can cup his cock.

So long as he lives, he will never get over the feeling of Rey touching him, of her wrapping her hand lightly around him and pumping him from stem to tip. Her hands are softer now than they were once. She hasn’t trained with a weapon in months. The twins grew so quickly inside her that she hasn’t been able to keep up with what she’d wanted to do and now the callouses on her hands are gone. He had liked the rough texture before. It had felt like her hand and his own were the same, when she’d touched his cock. But he likes this better, he thinks, the smoothness of it, the way she coaxes him longer and harder and hotter until he’s twitching against her palm and his heart is beating an erratic tattoo against his chest.

He toys with her clit as he sucks on her breasts. Her eyes are closed now, but he’s still looking up, watching her carefully. Her lips are parted slightly, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s dripping over his fingers now. 

“How do you want to do this?” he murmurs into her skin. Because she’s been picky in the past few weeks. She’s blown hot and cold about sex because her hormones have been all over the place. He half expects her to say that this is nice, but that’s as far as it goes for tonight.

But instead, she takes his chin and pulls his face up so that she can kiss him. “I want to feel you,” she whispers. 

“I think that’ll be hard from the front,” he tells her.

“From the back then?”

He nods and slowly pulls away, climbing over her, the tip of his cock brushing over her side and sending a tremor through him. He curls around behind her, sliding one of his arms under her neck, and lines himself up to her entrance before pushing in, hearing his sigh echoed from her lips. 

She reaches behind her and runs her fingers through his still-damp hair. She turns her head so that he can kiss her, and he does. He stays very still, feeling nothing but warmth from her lips, from her cunt, from his chest pressed against her back. Then, very slowly, he starts to press into her. 

Her breath hitches in her throat, and Ben extends the arm under her neck and reaches his hand down to twist lightly at her nipple. With his other hand, he slides two fingers on either side of her clit and Rey’s hands tighten in his hair.

“Ben,” she moans. “Oh fuck.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmurs in her ear. “I love you, I love you so much.”

She lets out a garbled reply that isn’t fully coherent, but that only makes him smile, only makes him press into her that much more deeply. God she’s so hot. He’s known heat in his life, heat and rage and pain and more heat, but Rey’s heat is different. It’s a home heat—their home. The one they’re building together, the one he can lose himself in, the one he can find himself in. She’s soft where the world is hard, she’s loving and trusting and everything about her feels right in his arms, between his fingers, in his heart.

He comes apart faster than he wants. He wants to fuck her into oblivion and back, but today is not that day. Today he spurts into her while he sucks on her neck and pinches her nipple and his fingers between her legs still for a moment while he does what little he can do to regain control of his heart.

She begins to wiggle her hips against his fingers and he recovers himself. He rolls that little nub between his fingers, swipes over it with her own slick while she starts to tremble in his arms. He keeps sucking at her neck, keeps twisting at her nipple. He even tries to press his slackening cock into her, despite the fact that he’s far too sensitive to enjoy it, and it’s losing stiffness with every passing second. He keeps going, and going until she’s throbbing around him, and gasping, and sighing, and pulling his hand from her breast to press his palm against her lips for a kiss.

“I love you too,” she whispers to him when she’s caught her breath. He’s still curled around her, though his hand has drifted from between her legs to rest over her pregnant stomach. 

They fade to sleep, and when they wake the next day, it is the first night in weeks that Rey has slept the whole way through.


	12. Three Needle Bind-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Breylo, Threesome, Double Penetration, Oral Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Bangs pots and pans about how it was colder in Chicago than it was on the surface of Mars a few weeks back and this is not the only fic in this collection I will have written that is inspired by that fact](https://chicago.cbslocal.com/2019/01/28/chicago-colder-than-siberia-antarcitca-mount-everest/) _
> 
> (heh bangs)

When Rey wakes, sore, and so very much not alone, it takes her a moment to remember how—why—this—

It began with a pair of socks.

 

-

 

“ _ Those _ are your socks?” Rey says, stopping short when she pushes her way into Kylo’s apartment.  Ben is there, sitting on the couch that has become his bed ever since he moved to Chicago. 

“What’s wrong with my socks?” he asks her.

“Ben you’re not in San Diego anymore.  It’s going to be a  _ high _ of negative thirteen tomorrow.   _ Those _ are your socks?”

“I don’t—”

“They’re ankle socks,” she says and she marches into Kylo’s bedroom.

Kylo isn’t there.  She’s not surprised by that.  Kylo usually doesn’t get home until past eleven these days.  There’s a big case he’s working on that’s eating his life a little bit, but it’s been a long time since Rey has felt uncomfortable just going into his room.  She’s had a key to his apartment for over a year and uses it liberally because, it turns out, she and Kylo have always sort of been on a wavelength about spending time together.  It’s part of what makes them as good friends as they are—that they’re on the same wavelength.

She pulls open his sock drawer—the tidiest and most orderly sock drawer she has ever encountered—and grabs a pair of long dark socks.  Then she marches back out to the living room where Ben is sitting there, looking bemused.

“Socks that will cover your ankles.”

“I’m not going outside for the next three days.  I don’t need to steal Kylo’s socks,” Ben says.

“It’s chilly even with the steam heat.  You’re going to catch a cold and die.”

“I’m a doctor.  I know how not to catch a cold and die.”

“Don’t doctors make for the worst patients?  Put on the damn socks, Ben.”

“I’m not putting on Kylo’s socks.”

Rey lets out an annoyed growl.  Ever since Ben moved onto Kylo’s couch (“Temporarily,” both had claimed, “While he looks for his own place,” they had claimed, but it has now been more than a month), some things had been made painfully evident to her.  Like that there were dumb things that the twins got competitive about (socks, apparently) and that they seemed to both bring out the worst and the best in one another in one fell swoop.

“Well, I don’t have any to lend you,” she snaps at him.

“I don’t need your socks.”

“You need socks.  We’re going to Target.”

“I am not leaving this apartment when it is four degrees outside.”

“Aren’t you a doctor?  Aren’t you supposed to be saving lives?”

“I don’t have shifts scheduled until the weekend.”

Which was how she’d decided to knit him socks.  Big thick socks that he could wear around the apartment, or wear in his shoes.  Because it doesn’t take Rey long to knit socks. It doesn’t take her long to knit anything.  She’s a fast knitter, and the cold has made it so that her office is encouraging people to stay home, and unfrostbitten, so knitting socks for the stubborn Solo brother makes total sense as a way to spend her day.  

She didn’t think it would be anything more, or less, than that.

 

-

 

Ben is curled around her back, his face buried in her neck, snoring softly.  He has one large hand on one of her tits and she doesn’t want to move because it feels so good.

She also doesn’t want to move because her head is resting on Kylo’s chest while it gently rises and falls.

She feels safe, and warm, and a whole host of other physical feelings she doesn’t know how to process.  She tries to process those ones first, though, because focusing on the fact that she’s naked in bed with the Solo brothers is  _ certainly _ more than she is capable of at this moment.

 

-

 

“Better?” she asks him as she shoves the sock onto his foot.  

“I should take the other sock off first, right?”

She glares at him and he peels the sock she’d just knit off and takes off his ankle sock and puts her sock back on.  Then he goes very still.

“Well?”

“Ok, this is better.”

“I  _ told _ you.”

How it gets from there to her and Ben making out on Kylo’s—Ben’s—their couch, she’s not really sure.  He’s only got the one sock on because she hasn’t even cast on the second one, and he keeps rubbing it against her ankle and she can feel the soft ridges of the sock against her skin.  It feels good. Better than good, really. It feels really good. It feels really right. Like that time she’d woken up in Kylo’s bed.

 

-

 

To clarify: she hadn’t woken up in Kylo’s bed because they had done anything.  

She woke up there with an ice pack pressed against her skull and Kylo talking quietly on the phone.  

“Yeah, she was unconscious when I found her.  I saw her fall, so it wasn’t like she was out there in the cold or anything.  Yeah. On the ice.” Her eyes were bleary. Why was she in—where was—

It wasn’t her bedroom.  It was far too neat to be her bedroom.  

“Oh come on, hospital bills are crazy and I don’t know what kind of—no, she’s not vomiting and she just woke up.  I’m putting you on speaker.”

Which was how she heard Ben’s voice for the first time. 

“You really should go to the fucking hospital, Kylo.  Head injuries are nothing to mess around with.”

“There are two of you,” Rey moaned.

“She’s seeing double?” the voice asked through the phone, panicked.

“No—I mean—”

“Rey, this is my twin Ben.  He’s the doctor.”

“A doctor and a lawyer.  Your mother must be very proud.”

Kylo saaid “She brags about us during onegs,” at the same time that Ben said, “She predicted it at our b’nei mitzvah.”  Ben continued. “Please for the love of god take her to the hospital. You don’t know if there’s gonna be cerebral swelling and concussions can have long lasting effects if you don’t tend them properly and they are  _ completely treatable _ .”

“She’s fine.  You’re overre—”

“If she’s not fine I’m going to personally sue your ass for negligence.  I know  _ enough _ about medical malpract—”

“Fine.  Fine. We’re going.”  And Kylo hung up. “You heard Doctor Bossypants.  Anything you want me to grab for you?”

Rey blinked.  Her head hurt too much to really answer that question and that was when she noticed Kylo’s expression change.  Gently, he eased her up into his arms and stood. She leaned her head forward to rest against his neck and was only vaguely aware of how strong he had to be to be carrying her like that.

 

-

 

It’s not exactly a fight when Kylo gets home to find them still making out like teenagers on the couch.  Kylo and Ben don’t fight. But they do stare at one another and Rey becomes  _ acutely _ aware of the way that Kylo’s hands are balled into fists after he’s hung up his coat.  Rey has scooted away from Ben at this point, but it doesn’t really matter.

Damage was done.  

Which blows her mind because it’s not as if she and Kylo are anything, and she’d  _ think _ that the two brothers would be supportive of one another in one of them making out with a girl on the couch.  They are usually decently—if competitively—supportive of one another. Protective of each other, really.

_ Ben’s the only one who really gets me,  _ Kylo had once told her over a third glass of whiskey, his eyes glazed with drink and very dark.   _ And I’m the only one who gets him.   _

Which she hadn’t really believed until Ben had moved onto Kylo’s couch and both had seemed decently content with that fact, despite both being thirty-two and in careers where they definitely make enough money not to have one of them living on the other’s couch.

_ Did I break it?  _ she wonders sadly.  She hadn’t even finished the second sock.  She likes Kylo. He’s a good neighbor, and a kinder person than people give him credit for, and she’ll never forget the way he took care of her when she had that concussion.  That was what had started it all for their friendship, him carrying her in his arms as though she were breakable, as though she were something to be kept safe. No one had ever done that for her before.

Which is how she ends up opening a bottle of wine and drinking half of it in about ten minutes downstairs in her own apartment.

She likes Kylo and doesn’t want him to hurt.  She also likes the way that Ben’s lips had felt against hers, the way his body had felt, pressing her into the couch, the way he had tried to rub that sock against her leg.

Rey’s a lightweight.  She always has been. Kylo can drink four whiskeys where Rey can only have like one.  And she knows that you can’t give consent when you’re drunk, but does that mean you can’t initiate?  The only person she’d ask would be Kylo, because he’s a lawyer. 

She doesn’t finish the bottle because she knows herself well enough to know that she’ll end up vomiting everywhere if she does.  And yes, she feels like vomiting as she grabs the keys to her apartment and goes back upstairs, but that’s not because of the alcohol.  That’s because some impulse that she can’t squash is making her march back into Kylo’s apartment—Ben’s on the couch on his computer, Kylo’s in his bedroom with his door closed—and slurring, very loudly as she stumbles into the room,

“You’re a doctor, you’re a lawyer.  You’re thirty-two years old and have known each other your whole lives.  And you’ve never learned to  _ share _ ?”

 

-

 

They don’t do anything that night.  Or at least, not anything physical.

Rey’s drunk and her questions about what drunkenness and consent mean when she’s the one initiating enthusiastically fall on deaf ears and Kylo saying firmly that that’s not how it works.  

They do talk a lot though as Rey slowly sobers up and Kylo drinks his way through several glasses of whiskey and Ben drinks a beer.  What does  _ sharing _ mean, and how can they be careful so that no one gets hurt—because neither Kylo nor Ben seems interested in something that might hurt the other, and neither of them has any desire to hurt Rey.

She’s seen their brutal honesty at work, but never like this before.  

She ends up falling asleep on their floor and wakes up only slightly when Kylo carries her back downstairs to her own bed and tucks her in.  

When she wakes the next morning, she wonders if it was all a dream.

 

-

 

_ It wasn’t a dream,  _ she thinks as Ben nuzzles into her neck.  As far as she can tell he’s still asleep. She can feel him half-hard against her ass again, which only makes her flush a little bit.   _ I’m going to be so much more sore when I actually move _ .

His lips don’t so much kiss as mouth unconsciously against her neck and she smiles to herself as she feels her own inch towards Kylo’s chest.  He stirs for a moment, opening a bleary eye to take them in. Then he smiles and closes his eyes again, content.

 

-

 

She ends up taking her clothes off first.  A distraction, she hopes, from whatever discomfort might come from identical twins stripping down first.  She peels her sweatshirt off over her head and then the sweater she’s wearing, and then her t-shirt and then her bra.  She takes off her jeans and the leggings she’s wearing under them. She leaves on the home knit socks though. She notices that Ben’s wearing the ones she’d made for him too.

They both just stare at her with matching expressions of awe—which ordinarily Rey would be very pleased with except that it’s colder than Antarctica in Chicago today and the heater in their apartment is doing what it can, but she’s still  _ cold _ .

Which is how she ends up on Kylo’s lap, sucking on his neck while he tugs his shirt and sweater up over his head, his hands at her hips and Ben’s hands trailing up and down her spine.

Four hands is very different than two.  Two sets of lips are very different than one.  Because Kylo’s sucking on one side of her neck and Ben’s sucking at the other side of her neck, and Kylo has twisted her around slightly so that his brother can have better access.  Behind her, she feels Ben pull away for just long enough to tug out his own shirt and that’s when Rey wonders if she’d understood what she was getting herself into. Because she doesn’t think she had.

She’s got two very warm, very muscular, very large bodies on either side of hers, lips that are kissing their way across her and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.  Ordinarily, when she’s with a partner, she has her hands all over them. She’s always been good with her hands, she likes touching things, seeing how they work, what things feel like.  

She goes with balance in the end.  One hand on Kylo’s chest for balance—and goddamn his muscles are incredible under her fingers—the other reaching behind her to weave fingers through Ben’s hair.  Her head falls back onto Ben’s shoulder and Kylo’s lips leave her neck and she realizes why when he gently pushes her onto his brother’s lap and begins kissing his way down her chest.  She whimpers when he sucks on her breast. Not just her nipple—her whole breast goes right into his mouth. She’d never much cared for her breasts. They’re small and it’s not that she’s insecure about that but they don’t feel particularly sexy the way her ass does.  But her opinion of them might just have shifted when she looks down and sees her whole tit in Kylo’s mouth.

It becomes quickly evident to her that she is no match for two of them.  One of them, perhaps. One of them she could meet head on, feel like she’s in control of something.  But two of them is a lot more than one of her. If it were anyone else, she’s sure she’d feel anxious about that.  She’d wonder what she’d gone and done, she’d consider telling them to stop the way they had agreed the night before.   _ If anyone’s out at any time, we’re all done.  That’s it.  _

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t because somehow, even as she’s aware that she’s fumbling to know what to do next, she feels safe.  Safe with both of them, safe knowing that they both care about one another—just safe.

Which might be why she sighs and closes her eyes and lets herself enjoy it.  Ben’s hands on her hips are incredible, his lips have not left her neck, the heat of his chest at her back is more than enough to send the winter cold away.  And Kylo’s mouth has moved to her other breast and now he’s circling the damp nipple on the one he’d just finished with with two fingers and it’s sending flashes of warmth right through her.  She’s moaning, she knows. And rubbing her ass against Ben’s groin.

She can feel him getting harder and harder there by the second.  His fingers on her hips are tightening, steadying her rhythm so that it’s the pace he wants, and he picked a good one because it feels so good, the way his cock is pressed against her ass through his jeans.  Her hand drops from Kylo’s chest to the front of his pants and she begins to rub as well and that’s when everything changes.

Kylo stops kissing her, but he looks up at her and there’s wonder in his eyes, and something else.  That same something else that she’d seen the night before when he and Ben had said that they didn’t want to hurt one another, that this could only work if they agreed on that; that same something else that she’d thought she’d seen in his eyes as he’d carried her to the hospital when she’d been concussed.  Her hand leaves his groin and she caresses his cheek.

And he lurches up, his lips locking with hers in the sloppiest kiss she’s ever had, openmouthed and his tongue pressing into her mouth without any control at all.  He wants to feel her, to be inside her, and finesse can happen when he’s not overwhelmed—because she realizes in that moment that he’s just as overwhelmed as she is.  More so, probably. 

Her hand twines in his hair and it’s in that moment that she realizes that her other hand is still in Ben’s.  She’s holding both of them by the hair and god—that hair feels so good between her fingers. Everything about them feels so very good.  

How they make their way from Ben’s couch to Kylo’s bed, Rey’s not really sure.  She thinks Ben might carry her? Or maybe it’s Kylo. She knows that there are lips on her neck and she hears the unzipping of flies mixed with groans.  

And now she’s got one of them each on her breasts, suckling at her and her hands are in their hair again and what joy this is, these two men, these two boys sharing her.  They mirror each other in such interesting ways. Ben’s hand comes up to stroke her cheek while Kylo’s drops between her legs and she squeaks when his fingers part her lips and sink into her.  His fingers are much larger than her own, their tips blunter, and Rey squirms and wriggles and widens her legs, and both brothers groan because when she widens her legs—

It makes physiological sense that dicks would be hot when they’re hard.  Lots of blood flow, right to the groin. But there’s something about feeling both of them, hot and hard and long and heavy and twitching against her legs as she shifts and her hands leave their hair.  She snakes her arms underneath them—because their lips are still at her breasts and the angle is just awkward. She’d be able to do this easily with just one of them, use the other hand, but there’s two of them and two hands and two cocks to be reached for.  And she does reach for them, one in each hand, and they both go very still at the exact same moment as she strokes slowly up and down their lengths.

_ Alpaca wool  _ is the only thing Rey can think when she’s touching them.  Soft, and hot, and perfect against her skin. Only alpaca wool feels this good.  That’s why she loves to knit with it. 

She feels a little bit like a queen with both of them trembling at her sides like this, her hands full of them, her heart racing.  She feels almost like a goddess. 

And then Kylo’s fingers begin moving inside her again, and another hand is there as well, swirling over her clit in compact little circles.  Ben’s lips find her breast again and now they’re off to the races, she thinks because she can feel her heartbeat is increasingly irregular, she can feel that cold-hot feeling that comes right before she comes, when her blood pumps so warm it makes the rest of her body seem cool as she spins off into nothingness, into complete and utter contentment.

They let her lie there while she comes down from it.  Her hands are no longer working at their dicks, and they’re each kissing at the side of her neck again.  She feels warm, and soft, and she’d never know that it was colder than Antarctica outside. 

They lie very still for a few minutes while Rey recovers.  They keep pressing kisses to her—to her neck, to her cheeks, to her lips, to her nose, to the skin above her breasts, to her shoulders.  And when she’s ready, she sits up and looks down at them. They have matching looks of anticipation and wonder on their faces. Ben’s hand is wrapped around his dick and is pumping it lightly.  God, even their dicks are identical, a deep pink right now, and circumcised, and so very long and thick. 

And Rey wants to suck them.  

She’s always liked sucking dick.  People think it’s demeaning, but she doesn’t really understand that.  Maybe people are having sex the wrong way with the wrong people. Rey hasn’t had a lot of sexual partners, but she’s never felt demeaned sucking dick.  If anything, she feels powerful. 

But the question comes into her head almost immediately of  _ which one _ .  Because they’re both looking at her like that.

_ Do they taste the same too? _

Which is how Rey thinks to do the most daring thing she’s ever done sober—since she doesn’t think that her proposal of them doing this counts as daring when she’d had to down half a bottle of wine to get up the gall to do it.  

She’s got them kneeling on the bed in front of her before too long, both of them looking nervous.  She suspects—though doesn’t dwell on—that them like this, where her face is near neither of theirs is making it a little more obvious to both of them that they’re fucking the same girl at the same time as their twin.  But neither seems willing to stop with that revelation, especially as Rey takes her time licking her way up and down their shafts, one hand each on their ball sacs. Kylo’s resting a hand on her shoulder, Ben’s got his hands in her hair, and no—they don’t taste the same.  Ben’s sweat stings a little more in her mouth, and Kylo’s precum is a little more bitter, but she loves the way they taste—together and individually. She loves the way they twitch towards her tongue, the way they are focusing hard on their breathing, the way that—when she does try it, they both exhale through the sides of their mouth as though they can barely dare to breathe.

It’s not exactly easy—fitting two dicks in her mouth.  She doesn’t think they’ll go in very far. She can deepthroat, but she knows that’s not going to happen because right now, she can only really get them halfway into her mouth.  But it’s enough. Their tips against the soft insides of her cheeks has them both dribbling out precum, their balls rolling between her fingers. Ben’s hand tightens in her hair and he begins to rock his hips a little more, getting friction against Kylo’s dick.  His motions remain shallow, though. Even as he’s pushing for more, he’s not pushing for too much. 

She’s drooling all over them, and looking up at them both and Ben’s eyes are closed, his cheeks are flushed, and Kylo’s looking down at her again, watching her so closely, that look of  _ I can’t believe this, I can’t believe you _ back in his eyes.  She squeezes his balls a little bit and he groans and his eyes close too.  Were her mouth not so full of their dicks, she would be grinning. 

It’s Kylo that pulls back first, almost violently pulling himself out of her mouth and lying down on the bed, breathing hard.  She takes that moment to pull Ben as deep into her mouth and down her throat that he’ll go before releasing him too. He looks winded from how quickly it had happened and slowly he leans back down on the bed, glancing at Kylo.

Kylo’s eyes are still closed, his face is screwed up as though he can’t quite do anything because he’s trying very hard not to come all over the place.

So Rey turns to Ben and kisses him for just a moment and hopes that he’ll understand.

He does.

Because they’d talked about this last night.  When they’d been through the emotional stuff, they had blurted out things they’d wanted to try and it had seemed like a no-brainer to Rey—the first one off her lips.  Neither brother had seemed surprised by it, either.

Ben ducks over the edge of the bed to dig through Kylo’s bedside table, where he finds a bottle of lube and Rey turns herself over so that her ass is in the air.

She likes her ass.  It’s muscular. She’s a runner and a biker and Ben massages her muscles as she wriggles down into the bed.  And then she feels him tracing over her hole with lube and her heart stutters.

She’s looking at Kylo as Ben works on stretching her out.  He’s careful, and gentle, and  _ very _ liberal with the lube.  She doesn’t know if that’s because he’s a doctor, or if it’s because he just wants to make sure this is going to be ok.  She’d known this was coming and had done some prepwork herself earlier that day, but it’s different when it’s Ben’s fingers and not her own toys.

She breathes deeply as he goes and Kylo’s eyes drift open and lock with hers.  They’re black and blazing and they make her breath catch in her throat. She reaches for his hand as Ben’s fingers probe into her ass and he takes it.  He takes it, and sighs, and a moment later she feels Ben’s lips between her shoulder blades.

“Ready?” he asks her.

“If you think I am—you’re the one who can see.”

He kisses her and she hears him squeeze more lube out of the bottle and she takes a deep breath and—

It’s a lot.  It’s a lot and she grits her teeth and Kylo sits up and Ben freezes.  Then Ben’s dick is gone and he’s pulling her onto her back and Kylo’s helping her balance against his chest, and spreading her legs, and kissing his way down her stomach until his lips are on her clit.  He licks along her slit and Rey moans and bends her knees up so she can press towards his face and behind her, she feels Ben’s hands guiding his cock towards her ass again.

And maybe it’s because Kylo’s tongue is magical against her, or maybe it’s because it’s more relaxed when he’s between her legs like this, or maybe the position, or maybe something else, but this time, it doesn’t hurt as much as Ben presses into her.  Her head falls back onto his shoulder again, and he makes a sound low in his throat as he slips in a little deeper. 

“Kylo.”

It’s weird to hear Ben saying Kylo’s name like this—a little strained, a little needy, sort of the way that Rey would say it.

It’s great, really.

Kylo kisses his way back up Rey’s stomach, between her breasts, to her neck.  His lips find hers again and she tastes herself there. Can he taste the way that he and Ben had tasted in her mouth too?  She can’t ask right now. She doesn’t think she can breathe right now—or maybe breathing is the only thing she can do. She’s not sure.

She becomes even less sure when she feels his cock nudging against her entrance, thick and hard and oh—oh—oh—that’s full.  That’s—

She’s stretching in a way she’d never felt stretched before and she’s whimpering enough to make him freeze.

“No—keep going—please—I—”

And he kisses her forehead and does.  Ben’s very still in her ass right now but his breathing is even more ragged and she’s sure that he can feel the way his brother’s cock is pressing in through Rey’s walls.  Her hands are scrabbling a little bit—at Kylo’s back, for one of their hands, for the bed sheets before Ben’s hands guide them to Kylo’s ass. 

“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers to her, and Kylo kisses her neck.  

And then they start to move.

It’s a slow motion.  Ben’s not pushing too hard—indeed it sort of feels like he’s just lying there and slightly jerking his hips, which makes sense because Rey’s got her full weight on his chest and Kylo’s pressing in above her.  Kylo’s motions are deeper—pulling out and pressing in. He’s kissing her neck and she’s gripping his ass and when his lips leave her neck, for a moment she thinks he’s going to pull away but no—when she opens a bleary eye she hadn’t even realized was closed, she sees him pressing his lips to Ben’s, a gentle kiss, with just a little bit of tongue and Ben moans.

“God she tastes—”

“I know—”

And they kiss again, and both of them jerk their hips a little bit deeper while they do.  Rey whimpers and it’s enough to bring Kylo’s lips back to hers. His chest is pressed against hers, his cock is as deep inside her as it will go and Rey’s never felt more full of anything in her entire life.

That she’s coming hardly seems consequential.  Or maybe it’s the only thing that matters. Her whole body is—well, it’s everything right now.  It’s Ben and Kylo kissing, it’s their groans as her cunt convulses and they can both feel the unconscious motion of her pelvic floor muscles against them, it’s Ben’s lips at her neck, and Kylo’s hands in her hair and hot, sweet, safe, warmth from both of them.  There are tears in her eyes as her body convulses, and her throat feels dry and ragged as she tries to think what name to call because they’re both so—they’re both—but she doesn’t know so it’s just a garbled noise that so long as she lives she’ll never forget the shape of in her mouth.

Kylo comes first.  Rey’s aware of that very distantly as he spurts into her, then eases himself out.  The pressure eases, though her muscles are still rolling inside her. He kisses his way down her stomach again and begins to lick at her slit once more.  

She whimpers—it’s too much—and grabs his hair and pulls him away. 

“You’re incredible, Rey,” he murmurs to her as he crawls back up the bed.  He’s lying next to them now, and leans forward to kiss him.

“I’m going to,” Ben begins and a moment later he’s shifting the two of them so that Rey’s on her knees again.  She drops her head onto Kylo’s chest as Ben squirts more lube against her and then begins pushing harder and faster than he has since he’d entered her.  

Rey feels warm, and distant, and she reaches a hand back to find one of his.  He squeezes it tightly and she smiles.

When he comes with a cry, and collapses on the bed, he pulls her down with him.  He buries his face in her neck, and holds her tightly and Rey fades into the sound of their beating hearts.

 

-

 

None of them move, though she knows they’re all awake.  Ben’s fingers are trailing down her back, Kylo’s are brushing against her leg.  

She’s still wearing her socks.

Ben is too.

She’ll really need to knit some for Kylo.


	13. Displays of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Public Sex, Hand Jobs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently there were some AO3 email issues earlier this week, so if you are subscribed to this fic and think I missed a day, I didn't, and there's something waiting for you in an earlier chapter!

“You have the tickets?” his father asks for the nineteenth time.

“Yes, dad, they’re on my phone.”

“We don’t have to print them out?”

“Not for a long time.”

Han Solo rolls his eyes at his son.  “I know how technology works,” he says huffily.

“Sure.”

Ben loads up the  _ Fandango  _ app on his phone and pulls up the tickets.

The movie theater is not particularly full.  That doesn’t surprise him. It’s Christmas, and as every Christian he has ever met has made a big deal of pointing out, Christmas is a time for family.  Which is why he’s here, with his father and mother and girlfriend, doing the Jewish thing of movie and then Chinese food. Because Christmas is a time for family, even when it’s not your holiday.

He glances sideways at Rey.  “ _ I don’t care, _ ” she’d shrugged when he’d said that his parents would probably want him to come home on Christmas day for the movie tradition.

“ _ You’re the Christian, though, _ ” he replied carefully.  “ _ It’s your holiday. _ ”

“ _ I don’t have anyone to spend it with, _ ” she’d said quietly.  “ _ Except you. _ ”  And her eyes had gotten bright and he’d pulled her into his arms and done everything he could to make her forget that once upon a time, her motherfucking shitbag parents had abandoned her.

Rey had been delighted to spend Christmas with his parents.  She’d gotten them both Christmas gifts, which they had opened politely and even enjoyed—a new screwdriver with changeable heads for his dad and a lovely sweater for his mom.  “ _ Nothing for Ben? _ ” Han had asked with a waggle of his eyebrows, which had landed him an elbowing from Leia and an “ _ ignore him” _ and Rey had done her best not to look at Ben, whose face was flaming.

Rey is deep in conversation with his mother.  The two of them had picked the movie—some action flick that has a majority female cast and one where—as far as Ben’s been able to tell from the previews—the men are there for eye-candy.  Apparently it’s based off a book series his mother had read a lot of when she was younger and she’s delighted that—finally—“ _ some Hollywood noodnik is realizing that female led movies make more money these days. _ ”

“Popcorn?” Ben asks Rey quietly. She looks up at him and beams, and he gives her a half-smile.  He and his dad go to the concession line and return with three tubs of popcorn—one for Ben, one for his parents, and one for Rey.  

They make their way into the theater and find the seats—two pairs of recliners that are right next to one another.  Rey immediately curls up in her chair and sets it to practically horizontal as she shoves popcorn happily into her mouth and watches the previews.

“You warm enough?” Ben asks her as he leans back in his own seat.  His parents are getting themselves settled on the other side of his armrest, talking about how they need to call Uncle Luke this afternoon to make sure he’s doing ok, and double checking that they texted the address of the Chinese place to Chewie and Maz.  

“I’m fine,” she says with a smile.

“Because you get cold in movie theaters,” he says.  She gets cold everywhere. She says it’s because she grew up in the desert.  His mother thinks it’s because she’s too thin. Ben thinks—well, he doesn’t know what he thinks.  Just that she gets cold a lot.

“And lucky for us, we’ve got good cuddling seats,” she grins.  “So if I get cold, I get to snuggle up next to you.”

She looks so delighted with the prospect that Ben’s discomfort that they’d be cuddling with his parents within ten feet of him fades.  Why would he feel uncomfortable with that? Cuddling is positively PG. 

The movie, it turns out, is not.  

It’s violent as all hell, and the man-candy character spends a lot of time covered in sweat and blood for the first forty minutes.  He’s got, like, an eight-pack, and blond hair and a gruff personality and Ben can’t help but feel a little jealous of the way Rey watches him as she steadily eats her way through that jumbo tub of popcorn.  It’s fine that she thinks he’s attractive. The man has an eight-pack, he deserves the attention. But Ben can’t help but be far more interested in when Rey’s going to snuggle up to him, and he can’t help but think this Mattdar person is distracting her from that.

He should pay attention to the movie.  His mom’s going to want to talk about it for the entirety of dinner, and she’ll want him to have formulated opinions that aren’t about Mattdar’s distracting eight-pack and... what else is happening in this movie?

Rey finishes the popcorn and puts the tub down on the ground next to her chair, and then scoots to the edge of her seat and rests her head on his chest.  Suddenly he feels a lot better. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and wraps his arm around her shoulder. The great irony of whenever Rey rests her head on his chest is that he feels like a weight has been lifted.  Sweet relief, every time she nuzzles at his pecs. She likes his chest a lot. She gets crosseyed when he takes his shirt off, every time. He might not have an eight-pack like Mattdar, but he’s got nothing to be ashamed of.

He could probably work towards an eight-pack.  He’s already got the six.

Rey shifts next to him, nuzzling in at his armpit—which is confusing.  Usually she does that when she wants him to curl up around her on his side when they’re going to sleep.  But they’re not going to sleep—unless she’s actually really bored by this movie, which will only make dinner with his mother that much more fascinating, because he won’t have been paying attention and Rey won’t have liked it.  It doesn’t stop him from turning on his side to curl next to her, doing his best to keep his chest flat so that she can go back to pillowing her head on it if she likes.

That’s when things take a turn that he hadn’t expected.

He should have, really.

He  _ really _ should have.  Because Rey gets handsy when she’s cuddly.  She gets handsy a  _ lot _ .  It’s something he enjoys, how much she likes touching him—he likes touching her, too. As winter has set in, a lot of their tv-watching has devolved—very quickly—into sex on his couch.

But he hadn’t really expected that to happen while out to the movies. With his parents. On Christmas.  

“Rey,” he hisses as she cups him through his jeans.  She looks up at him and he can see the light from the movie reflected in her eyes.

“I’m paying attention,” she tells him.  “It’s just…”

But what it’s just, she doesn’t say.  She just keeps lightly fondling him through his pants as they watch.  As she watches. Because Ben can’t watch at all right now. He’s always done for the second Rey touches him, and right now he can fucking taste the adrenaline in his mouth, because his mother is sitting two feet away from him, periodically leaning over to whisper—loudly—to his father that she disagrees with this or that adaptational choice.

“They really miscast Mattdar,” his mother huffs at the exact moment that his dick twitches in his pants and, traitor that the dumb thing is, it gets a little bit stiffer.  “Blonde. Really. He has  _ black _ hair.”

“You kind of look like him,” Rey whispers to him, her breath trembling against the shell of his ear.  “But better.”

Ben swallows and his pants are much too tight right now.  He can’t bring himself to look at the screen. He can only look at Rey.  The movie is reflected in her eyes, and she’s watching it casually as she strokes up and down his length.  He’s feeling too hot for the sweater he’s wearing but he doesn’t dare move because somehow, if he moves, his mother will know he has a hard-on in the middle of the movie adaptation of her favorite book series.  If he breathes, his mother will know he has a hard-on. Which should be enough to make his hard-on go away, but no. No, it just gets stiffer. 

“ _ Rey _ ,” he hisses at her again when she pops the button of his jeans loose.  

She ignores him and her hand is in his pants, wrapping around his cock and pumping it lazily.  With her other hand, he can feel her loosening the zipper as quietly as she can.  _ At least she’s trying to be quiet. _

“Oh, this part’s going to be good—I saw it in the trailers,” his mother tells his father and Ben squeezes his eyes shut because he can’t squeeze his  _ ears _ shut.  He’s twitching in Rey’s hand, and she seems to be serenely watching the movie as she slowly palms him closer and closer to coming.

Rey nestles her head on his chest a little more, resting it right over his heart.  She’s not looking at him anymore. She’s actually trying to watch the movie.

That might be good, though.  If she’s not looking at him, he won’t focus on her eyes, her lips, her pretending-not-to-care expression.  

Except that her thumb brushes over the tip of his cock and he does his best to turn a groan into a cough as some precum shoots out of him and he  _ stiffens _ horribly when his mother reaches a hand over and pats him on the shoulder.

“Do you need a lozenge?” she asks.

“No—I’m—I’m fine mom.”  His voice is a little high-pitched.  A lot high-pitched, really. On his chest, Rey tilts her head to press a kiss to him through his sweater and shirt and he’s pretty certain he’s going to die.  He’s never wanted to come so hard in his life because then—at least—this will all be over.

“I have a lozenge if you need it,” Leia says before turning back to him.

“I hope it’s not contagious,” Rey whispers to him and she’s looking at him again with a devilish gleam to her eyes.  

Ben’s eyes widen and Rey grins and turns back to the movie.  Her thumb brushes his tip again.

The worst part about this, he realizes what he thinks is five minutes later, is that Rey is a  _ tease _ .  A horrible, cruel  _ tease _ .  He thinks he’s about to come twice and then her hand slows, she cups his balls rather than tracing his tip, and his heart rate starts to slow again.  Usually he doesn’t care about that. 

Usually he’s not sitting next to his mother.

He isn’t even bothering to pay attention to the movie.  He got through college without doing half of his readings, he’ll bullshit an opinion over dinner.  The only thing he can think about is Rey’s hands, Rey’s lips, Rey’s gleaming eyes.

The one time he chances a glance at the screen, he sees one of the main characters in an outfit that’s so warrior-like that it shows off her six-pack and for a moment, her coloring and her scream of fury as she flies towards her nemesis to avenge the slain Mattdar makes him think that it’s Rey and finally—finally—finally he’s coming all over her hand, half in his pants, half on his sweater, trying to be silent but failing and trying to turn it into a cough with a little more success.

The theater seems very quiet all of a sudden, compared to the sound of his pulse in his own ears.

Rey slides her hand out of his pants and he watches as she quietly licks his cum off her skin.  Behind him, his mother stirs and a moment later, she’s poking him. 

“Lozenge,” she tells him.

“Thanks, mom,” he tells her, taking it and tucking it into his pocket while Rey bites back a snort and zips his jeans up again.  “ _ You and I are going to have words later, _ ” he whispers as she snuggles close to him again.

“I hope so,” she whispers back and she kisses his neck, just under his chin.  “I hope they’re _stern_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's another part 1/2. Part 2 to come (heh) (that joke never gets old) (I'm twelve) (I'm not actually twelve don't worry) tomorrow.


	14. Troublemaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Spanking, Doggy Style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a followup to the previous ficlet!

“You’re quiet,” Rey says softly as Ben merges onto the highway.  It’s dark, and the road is uncharacteristically empty for a Saturday night.  Everyone’s with their families. That’s what happens on Christmas.

Ben grunts.

He’d been quiet all through dinner, too.  She’d been watching him out of the corner of her eye as she’d chatted with Leia about the movie.  He’d eaten a lot and barely said a word and Rey had tried to keep the anxious pit in her stomach from splitting open.

Ben’s the first person she’s ever been with who makes her feel like that pit might start to be filled in, like it’s receding, going away.  

She’d eaten a lot of food, she’d actually enjoyed the movie, she’d felt like part of a family, and now Ben’s quiet.

_ He might just be tired,  _ she tells herself.  

Except she’s sure he’s not.

“You’re mad at me?” she asks him softly.  He shifts slightly in the driver’s seat, releases the steering wheel, rubs his eyes.  

“No,” he says at last.  “I don’t think I am.”

“You don’t think—”

“I thought I was,” he says.  “When I was in the bathroom after the movie, cleaning my own spunk off me.  I thought I was really pissed. But I don’t think I am.” She’s never heard the tone of voice he’s using now.  The pit gets wider.

She tucks her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.  

“Rey,” he says firmly, “I’m not mad.”

“You were, though.”

“You had me jizzing, like, four inches away from my  _ mother, _ Rey.  It could have been the most humiliating thing I’ve ever done, and that includes throwing a trash can through a window because I was angry.”  Tears prick at her eyes. “But I also didn’t get up out of the chair and I could very easily have done that. So I can’t get mad at you without being mad at myself, and honestly—I’m too confused to be mad at myself.”

Rey takes a deep, shuddering breath.  Ben tries very hard not to be angry with himself.  He’s working on it with his therapist. It’s his go-to, blaming himself for everything that goes wrong around him because he’s so very used to being blamed for everything that goes wrong around him.  Rey relates a little too much when he talks about it. She wonders if she could use a therapist, sometimes, but is scared to answer that question.

“Confused?” she asks quietly.  She’ll cling to that. Focus on that.

And that’s when he makes a noise low in his throat, like he’s trying to clear it but there’s nothing to clear.

“I’ve heard people talking about how it’s the—the excitement that you might get caught that makes that sort of thing fun.”

“Yeah,” Rey says.  “That’s why I—”

“And I never fucked around when I was a teenager.”  He makes a face. “No one should have fucked around with me when I was a teenager, but I imagine it’s sort of like...doing that sort of thing when you know your parents are downstairs and might catch you and that’s sort of…”

His voice trails away and Rey’s heart is pounding in her chest.

“Sort of…?” she prompts him.

“Hot.”

And relief floods through her.  

“You thought it was hot?” she asks him.

“Yup,” he practically shouts.  “I thought it was hot coming like a foot away from my mother while she offered me a lozenges.  You did this to me.” He glares at her fondly out of the corner of his eye and she grins at him cautiously.  

“Did I?” Rey asks.

“Well, I certainly didn’t put my hands down my pants in that theater,” he says.

“You mean you didn’t find Mattdar as hot as I did?” Rey asks.

“Do I have to get jealous of a fictional character now?”

“Because let me just say—those abs.  That scowl,” Rey teases. How different the car is now that she knows—

_ He was never going to hate me for that,  _ Rey thinks.   _ He was never going to leave me for that.  He’s not my parents.  _ And how glad she is of that.

“Listen, he’s not my type.”

“But he looks like you.”

Ben makes a noise of horror.  “He does not.”

“He  _ does _ , I told you that while I had my hand down your pants,” Rey laughs.  “That’s  _ why _ he was hot.  He reminded me of you.”

“That’s a weird compliment, given that he never smiled once in that movie,” Ben snorts.

“Because you were smiling all the time when I first met you.”

Ben rolls his eyes.  He reaches a hand sideways and Rey takes it.  He squeezes.

“I’m not mad at you.”  His voice starts out soft, but gets a little dryer when he continues.  “But you are a fucking troublemaker.”

Rey guffaws and leans over the console to press a kiss to his neck.  “You’re worth making trouble for,” she teases.

“Yes, but I seem to remember owing you some stern words.”  His face is somber, but even through the darkness, she can see a glint in his eyes.  “Because that was hardly appropriate behavior, and I’d have thought you were far too polite to be such a brat.”

“Did you now?” Rey grins.  “That was foolish of you.”

 

-

 

Considering that she jacked him off in a movie theater while sitting next to his mother, the slight roleplay is more playful than she expected.  Ben can’t quite get the twinkle out of his eyes as he tells her that she’s been very bad—so very bad—and she should be punished.

“Punished?” she says, a little too wide-eyed, biting her lip in the way that she knows gets his cock twitching.  “It was all in good fun. You  _ liked _ it.”

“All the same,” he says.  She has to give him credit—he’s trying very hard to be stern, which is difficult when his cock is straining like that, against the front of his pants.  “I would hope you’d understand that that sort of behavior isn’t acceptable.”

“I’m sorry,” she whines.  He has both of her wrists in his hand, and she pretends to try and squirm away.  

“I appreciate the apology,” he says.  “Unfortunately, it’s not about feelings, Rey.  The issue is discipline.”

“Discipline?” she asks him, biting her lip again.  

“Yes,” and she hears the way the  _ ssss _ in his  _ yes _ stutters a little bit as she worries at her lip.  She knows that his cock just twitched, that he’s taking deep breaths to control— _ discipline _ —himself.

She widens her eyes.  “Do I have to?” she asks again.

“You don’t have to do anything, Rey,” he says.  “But how will you ever learn how to behave if you cannot accept the impact of your actions?”  He nudges her with his hips when he says impact, and it’s all that Rey can do not to guffaw.

“I can accept the impact,” she says quietly, and it’s really— _ really _ —hard to pretend that she’s ashamed of herself when she’s not ashamed at all.  In fact, she’s so not ashamed that she is biting her lip now, not so much to titillate as to keep herself from grinning.  _ Impact _ , she thinks.   _ He’s punning over this. _

_ I love him so much. _

“I’m gladdened to hear it,” he replies and leads her over to the couch, where he sits down.  She makes to sit down next to him, but he shakes his head.

“Off,” he says, tugging at her jeans.

She takes a deep breath and complies, and he says, “You said you could accept the impact.”

“I can,” she protests and hurries to take off her jeans.  They snag at her shoes and she makes a show of wiggling her ass in the air as she takes her shoes and socks and jeans and underwear off.  

“And this,” he says, tugging at her sweater.  

“I’ll get cold,” she says, biting her lip again to keep from laughing.  “My nipples are already hard.”

He doesn’t reply, and she can tell he’s trying to turn the brain-explosion that came with that mental image into a stern and implacable expression.  

She tugs her sweater and shirt up over her head before fumbling with the clasp of her bra and letting it fall off her shoulders.  She stands there, completely naked for a moment before Ben pats his knee and, taking a deep breath, she climbs onto the couch, bending over his lap and pressing her stomach against his erection and wiggling into the position that he wants her in.  He bites back a groan, and Rey’s glad that she’s face down, now, because she can grin as much as she wants.

He runs his palms over his ass, massaging it for just a moment because he can’t help himself.  He loves her ass, she’s known this since before they’d gotten together. Rey doesn’t have much in the tits department—something Ben says he’s never cared about, and which Rey does in fact believe—but she has a really good ass.  It’s part of why Ben likes doing it from behind so much—unfettered view of her ass.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he asks her quietly, and she can feel his dick twitching against her lower stomach.  “For what you could have caused earlier today?”

_ Yes _ , Rey thinks.  “No—I’m not.” And his hand lands on her ass.

Ben is good at spanking.  She’d been hesitant to let him spank her the first time he’d brought it up, both of them going through kink lists for things to try.   _ Isn’t that a punishment?  _ she’d asked, worried.  Not the way Ben did it.  The exact right amount of pressure against her ass to sting a delicious sting, that she knows will make her sex positively  _ glossy _ with arousal.

“Did you like it? Bringing me off right while I was sitting next to my mother?”

_ So very much _ .  “No—I promise.”  And there it is again, the sweet sensation of his hand against her ass again.  He always does that—rubs a little bit right after as though trying to soothe the sting.  She’s sure he’s pretending to prepare her for the next one in his roleplay. She’s sure he’s going to amp it up.  He always does. Somehow, he knows just how much to give her.

“Did you like making me wonder if I liked it?  Having sex near my mother?”

“No,” and she positively squeals when he lands another smack against her ass, wriggling down against his cock, and she hears him hiss.  “I didn’t mean to make you wonder if you liked having sex near your—” she exhales sharply as his hand connects with her ass again “—mother.”

“And do you accept what you’ve wrought?” he asks her and his hand lands in three quick motions.  “Do you understand why I’m doing this?”

“Because—” she fumbles for words.  He’s picked up the pace now. He’s not waiting for her answer, he’s just...going.  She’s sure her ass is red as a cherry right now, and she can feel how wet she is as she pants into the couch cushions.  His cock keeps twitching underneath her.

“Because what?”

“Because you liked it too much and—ah fuck.”

Because that—that was right on her cunt.  Lighter than any of the other smacks he’s given her, so light that it doesn’t hurt.  But it  _ does _ send a tremor through her that has a moan ripping out of her throat.

“Yes,” he says.  “Because you, my little troublemaker, made me like it too much.  And are you liking this? You’re wetter than I’ve seen you in a while.  Are you wetter than when you got me off in that movie theater?”

“Yes,” she moans and he does it again—that—fuck— _ fuck _ —she bucks her hips back towards her hand but it’s gone again, his hand and that burst of pleasure, it’s gone.  “Yes, I am.” She’s starting to babble but she doesn’t care. She wants him to touch her again, to run his fingers over her, to smack her lightly, to ram his cock into her, hard and fast,  _ anything _ for contact right now.  She hadn’t realized just how turned on she’d gotten and now she’s just...

“Begging isn’t becoming,” he tells her.  “This is about behavior, Rey. And begging isn’t becoming.”

“I’m sorry,” she babbles.  She’s losing the thread of the roleplay.  She doesn’t care. She writhes on his lap as he smacks her ass again.  “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for begging.”  She is practically shouting right now, that’s how loud she cries out.   _ “Fuck! _ ” again when his hand connects to her ass.  “I’m sorry for begging for you to touch me, for wanting more of this, I’m sorry!”  

She’s not sorry.  Not at all. Especially not when he shoves her off his lap and she hears him fumbling for his belt even as he bends his face down to her ass and buries his face between her cheeks, kissing her, then kissing his way up and over to where he’d been smacking her.  She hears him unzip his jeans, and a moment later he’s shoving himself into her cunt and Rey lets out a choked sob as she grabs the couch cushions underneath her.

“There,” he asks her.  “Is that better? Is this what you wanted with your begging.”

“Thank you,” she moans as he starts to pump himself into her, his hands gripping her hips, holding them firmly as he fucks and fucks and fucks himself into her.  

“Very polite, my good girl,” he tells her, and he runs a hand over where he’d smacked her earlier, massaging it as he goes.  “Do you know how good you feel? Your cunt, your hand earlier? Fuck, Rey—I—Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too,” she moans.  “Ben, I love you so much.”

It doesn’t last long.  It never does, when they start saying how much they love each other.  

Ben collapses forward onto her after he comes, and she’s still throbbing and whimpering and his lips are at her neck, he’s pressing her down, down, down into the couch cushions and she mouths at his face and he mouths at her.

“Good fucking christ,” he says.  “I love how red your ass gets.”

“The way you talk about it makes me want to try it with yours sometime,” Rey mumbles into his chin.

He goes very still and, even as she feels it going slack inside her, she feels his dick twitch slightly.

“Just promise me not to wear your hair in braids while you do it, ok?  That might be too much for me.”

Rey grins and kisses him.  “It’s a deal.”


	15. Blanket Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, mostly-clothed sex, Ben Solo cries during sex pass it on, so does Rey pass it on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came from a prompt from @whybecrude over on twitter.
> 
> This is also the second polar vortex inspired fic in this here fest, though it's of a very different variety.
> 
> I've fallen behind on review replies. The past few days have been...Days, and this weekend my dad is coming to town and I don't know if that means we'll be galavanting around going to every museum about the history of Chicago or sitting on my couch listening to Vermont Public Radio's classical stream on my computer. Fear not: You'll get updates on Saturday and Sunday but I'm not sure when I'll get to review replies. Your reviews are giving me life, and I can't express how glad I am that you all are having as much fun reading these as I have had writing them!

“It’s colder than it is on the surface of Mars outside,” Ben says lazily.  

“I can tell,” Rey mumbles.

She’s wrapped in about twelve blankets, and is leaning against him on the couch.  Neither of them is a particularly cuddly type of person, but she swears she can feel the heat of Ben a little bit through all her layers.

Ben’s heat has been running nonstop for hours and Rey shudders to think what his gas bill is going to be when it comes through next month.  She’s already counting her blessings that he’d offered her his couch for this. They don’t talk about money much at all, but Ben knows why Rey doesn’t ever buy a window unit in summer and it’s because she can’t budget for it.  Just like how she can’t budget for her gas running nonstop for three days while Chicago is colder than Siberia, Mount Everest, and, apparently, the surface of Mars. 

Ben likes the cold.  He had been utterly gleeful earlier that day, going out with a canister of boiling water and throwing it through the air to make the water turn to snow.  He’d gone for a walk—properly wrapped up, because apparently it’s cold enough where you can get frostbite in five minutes outside—just to say he could while Rey had stayed wrapped up in her blanket fort.  “Just ten minutes,” he’d promised her when she’d looked at him like he was crazy for wanting to go outside at all—because he  _ was  _ crazy for wanting to go outside at all.  And he’d been back in ten minutes, his eyebrows icy and his hair frozen despite not having been wet when he’d gone out.

She’s glad she’s here with Ben.  Finn’s practically moved in with Rose at this point, and Poe’s on vacation down in Los Angeles, and Rey tries very hard not to spend entire days alone.  It doesn’t do good things for her head. She’d had enough of that when she was younger. She wonders if Ben had known that when he’d offered to save her gas bill for her.  Probably. He knows her better than anyone. 

That’s recent—him knowing her better than anyone.

For the longest time, she’d have said it was true of Finn—her best friend, as close to her as what she imagines a brother would be.  But ever since Finn and Rose happened, things just…don’t feel the same way they did with him. They’re still close, but they can’t finish each other’s sentences anymore, and Rey finds herself spending Friday nights at Ben’s place, watching movies or doing jigsaw puzzles or just talking for hours on end.

Ben gets up and Rey makes a noise of annoyance.  

“I’ll be back,” Ben tells her.  “I’m not going out again.”

“Fine,” she replies.

“You can’t even feel me through all those blankets,” he teases.

“Then why do I feel a little colder, hm?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes and she hears him muttering about her making things up and being a drama queen.

“Who are you calling a drama queen?” she demands.

“You’re the one in the blanket fort,” he points out.

“It’s colder than the surface of Mars out there.”

“Yeah but it’s—” she can tell he’s checking the thermostat, “A balmy sixty-five degrees in here.”

“I keep my apartment at seventy-two and I’m from the southwest.”

“Why’d you move to Chicago again?”

It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation, danced this dance.  There’s something comforting about the sameness of it, that every now and then—whenever the temperature dips below thirty degrees—Rey will complain, and Ben will point out that no one  _ made _ her leave the warm dry heat of Arizona.  (“True,” Rey retorts, every time, “but all of you keep staying here and I’m not about to  _ abandon _ you, am I?”)

She hears him tinkering about the kitchen, and turns back to her computer.

There is nothing to do at work.  Everyone’s working from home—they’d been ordered not to come into the office by HR—but it seems that no one’s doing their job and everyone is posting pictures of their pets in the company’s Slack instance.  

Rey takes a selfie of herself buried in Ben’s blankets and uploads it to her team’s private channel, under a picture of a smiling baby, two cats, and a dog in a winter coat and booties to protect her paws from the salt on the streets.   _ No pets.  Just me being very cold.   _ Because her team, like Ben, makes fun of her for always being cold.

Ben comes back into the room with two mugs and hands one to her.  “Hot chocolate,” he says and she can feel her face lighting up. He gives her a crooked smile as he settles back next to her, and Rey sighs happily.  He’s even put whipped cream on it.

“I’m not gonna die alone,” she tells him.  “I have you.” She means it as a joke. When it had formed in her head, it had seemed like a playful  _ thank you for the hot chocolate.   _ But the way it comes out is so serious that she freezes, and Ben freezes, the way the whole world outside this small apartment is frozen.

Slowly, Rey inhales, exhales.  Breathing is a thing that she does, that all humans do.  Except, when they’ve just spoken a truth that they hadn’t realized was the truth.

She’s not really aware of when her gaze leaves the hot chocolate and goes to Ben.  He’s sitting there looking as though the world has stopped revolving and him with it.  He looks like he is frozen in time, like he heard her words the exact same way she did and they hit him in exactly the same way.

He inhales, exhales.  Just like she does.

If he were anyone but Ben, she’d imagine he’d sit there like a deer in headlights for a long while.  But he’s Ben. And one of the things about Ben is that he always pushes.

“Did you mean that?”

She swallows.  Always pushing.  Always demanding nothing but honesty.  It’s so fucking annoying sometimes. But not right now.  Not when she feels like—feels like—

Like she’s said the truth, unprompted. 

Like she means the words that came out of her mouth.

Like she feels safe in this blanket fort with this man who just brought her hot chocolate.

“Yeah,” she says.  Her eyes are prickling, her throat is thick.  “Yeah, I did.”

He does that thing he does when he’s nervous—that working of his jaw like he’s chewing on nothing at all.  His eyes are wide and shining and she knows he’s just gathering his strength. 

“Oh.”  It’s all he says—or rather all he says with his words.  With his eyes, he’s saying so much more.

He’s looking at her the way he looks at the skyline when they’re by the lake.  He’s looking at her the way he looked at the stars when they visited the planetarium.  He’s looking at her like she’s a force of nature, bigger and grander than the woman who’s sitting in a blanket fort on his couch.  

“Yeah,” she says.

She lifts her mug to her mouth and takes a sip.  It’s the whipped cream that does it for her, really.  That he’d put that there. 

She sets the mug down on the coffee table at the same time he does.  She turns to him at the same time as he twists towards her, his knee coming up to settle somewhere in the blankets between them so he can face her fully.  She doesn’t know who reaches first—whether it’s him or her, but her hand is in his and her prickling eyes aren’t prickling anymore because there are tears dripping down her face, now.  

Trembling, Ben lifts his free hand, the one that’s not clinging to hers, and wipes away a tear with his thumb, the rest of his hand cupping her face.

“You have me,” he tells her firmly.  “You’re not alone.”

“Neither are you.”  The words slip out. 

They don’t talk about loneliness much, but they sense it in one another.  Ben’s distant relationship with his family, how he’s not one for friends; Rey and abandonment, and being slow to trust.  They’ve never outright said anything, but she knows he’s lonely. She wonders if the heating bill was an excuse to invite her over for a few days so he wouldn’t have to be alone either.

“Ben, I—” at the same time as, “Rey—”

His lips taste like hot chocolate and cream, and he’s shaking a little bit when he kisses her.  She can feel it through the blankets, just how much he’s trembling. 

“Are you cold?” she whispers into his lips, and before he can reply, she adds, “There’s room under the blankets.”

His fingers caress her cheeks, as he shifts on the couch and she makes a point of opening the blankets for him to slide beneath.  Twice that day, she had offered to make room for him under them. They are technically his blankets after all. He’d refused both times.  Now—now—

Now she can forget that his apartment is sixty-five degrees.  She can strike from the record not being able to remember the last time she felt warm because she feels warm  _ right now _ .  So warm that she doesn’t feel like she’s on the surface of Mars, that Chicago is not #chiberia.  She’s safe and sound in Ben’s apartment, in Ben’s arms, and she’s not alone.

She’s not alone when her hands find his chest, muscled beneath his sweater and t-shirt.  She’s not alone when he rubs his nose against hers, pausing to breathe, to relish the present.  She’s not alone when he pushes her back against the couch and covers her with the length of him, so warm and steady and hers.

The kisses aren’t frantic.  It’s as though they’ve both found calm in one another’s lips, and though Rey’s heart is racing—and she’s sure Ben’s is too—this doesn’t feel like a race, like a fire that will burn out when the fuel is gone.  It feels like coming home. Or it feels like she’s been home the whole time, and only now just realized it.

Ben sighs into her lips.  His tongue traces the seam of them and darts in to dance with hers for a little while before disappearing again.  He’s hovering over her on his elbows, his fingers toying with her hair. She’d pulled it back into a ponytail that she’s sure won’t last—if it’s not gone already—because of the way Ben’s fingers feel against her scalp.  She makes a purring noise deep down in her throat, and her hands leave his chest, snaking up past his neck to rub against his scalp too. He moans and breaks the kiss for the first time, looking down at her.

“Rey,” he whispers, and she thinks he’s going to pause, except he doesn’t.  No anxious roll of his jaw, no gathering of strength. He’s done all that already.  “Rey, I don’t want this to end.”

“I don’t, either,” she tells him.

His compulsive need to clarify kicks in.  “You and me. Like this.” 

“I know,” she repeats.  “I don’t want to ever let you go.”

That’s all he needs to hear.  His lips are back on hers and he doesn’t taste like chocolate anymore.  She doesn’t remember when he stopped, though they must have at some point while he was kissing her the last time.  It doesn’t really matter, though—he tastes like Ben. 

It’s in that moment that she realizes that she’s known what Ben would taste like for a long time.  How many times have they sat so close together that she could smell his breath while he talked. Never an unpleasant smell—though a human one.  Something comforting—a sign that she and Ben are sitting close, that they’re close, that they’re—

—Not alone.  

Her arms tighten around his neck and she whimpers into his mouth and she hadn’t realized how much that had meant to her—that she wasn’t alone.  It’s not the reason to be with someone—that she knows—but god if it’s not a good enough reason to come to know someone, to trust someone. And she knows Ben.  She knows how he likes his eggs, she knows his opinions on traffic laws, she knows what music he listens to when he’s sad, she knows what music he listens to when he’s cooking.  He knows her intense opinions on textiles, her favorite meals despite her claims that she likes everything she eats, that she wants a pet but is too afraid she’d accidentally kill it to get one.  She knows him, and he knows her, and they’re not alone.

They haven’t been alone in a very long time.

“Ben.”  His name is familiar on her lips, though she’s never heard it sound like this.

“Rey.”  The same is true of her name on his.

There’s a time for sex without clothes.  There’s a time to strip down to one’s skin and watch the look of amazement on your partner’s face when they see you for the first time.

That’s not to be done when it’s colder than the surface of Mars outside, when Ben’s apartment is sixty-five degrees.

She doesn’t see his penis at all, but she feels it.  It’s thick against her palm, and hotter even than the rest of him under all these blankets.  The skin is soft like velvet and the stiffness of it reminds her a little bit of holding a pipe.  His breath hitches as she gives it a few tentative pumps, and then his hands are down the front of her sweatpants.  His fingers are thicker than hers when they slide into her and she squeaks with surprise at that. 

“Sorry—I—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interjects before he can go on.  She wriggles her hips a bit and his fingers slide in a little deeper.  With the hand that’s not still stroking his cock—which twitches every time her hand approaches the tip—she begins to fumble at the waistline of her sweatpants.  He’s breathing harder and harder by the second, and he groans when he realizes what she’s doing.

“Are you sure?”

She pauses and looks up at him.  

“I’ve never been surer of anything than I am of you.”

And his lips drop to hers again.  He rolls her lower lip between his teeth, and sucks on her tongue and slowly, her sweatpants make their way past her knees as she refuses to let go of his cock and his hand seems unwilling to leave her vagina.  He’s trying to stroke her in there—inelegantly, but it doesn’t feel bad. It feels like someone once told him that this was something you should do when fingering a girl. And now that the sweatpants are below her knees, she can widen herlegs a little.  As she does, some sort of pressure inside her eases. His fingers sink even deeper into her and his tongue goes still in her mouth as though all his concentration has fled his head and has gone down to his hand and his waist. 

He’s jerking his hips now, thrusting his cock towards her palm and Rey takes a deep breath.  “Are you clean?” 

She knows he hasn’t been with anyone since they’ve become friends.  Or at least—she’d be surprised if he had. He’d never struck her as the hook-up type, but she supposes she could be wrong.  

He nods, though, and he asks, “Are you?”

“Yeah.”  

He nods.  The next question—contraceptive—doesn’t need to be asked.  He knows the alarm on her phone. Hell, sometimes he reminds her to bring her pill box with her when he knows she’ll be over late so that she doesn’t miss one.  

Slowly, his breathing a little bit shaky, he pulls his hand out of her, and slowly, her breathing a little shaky, she presses his tip against the edge of her lips.  

She thinks it’s a testament to—well—a lot of things that it doesn’t hurt or sting as he slides into her.  His fingers being bigger than hers, her just being—well she’s a mess right now, but she feels safe, and warm and that’s enough for her to be more turned on than she should be, given that their skin is barely touching.  She has felt how thick he is—thicker indeed than the vibrator she has back in her apartment—but there’s no pressure and then relief in his penetration. It feels right. Smoother than wine, sweeter than hot chocolate and whipped cream.

“This ok?” he asks her.

“Uh-huh,” she replies, nodding.  Tears are welling in her eyes again and he runs his fingers under her eyes to catch them again.  “Good tears,” she promises him. He kisses her softly again. “I’m just—I’m happy.”

He exhales intensely out of his nose, and suddenly he’s breathing very hard.  He keeps kissing her and his hips start moving again—jerky, uncontrolled motions that send a whole different kind of warmth up through her body.  She tilts her hips underneath him, trying to rise to meet him. They are out of sync, clunky, but it feels alright. He slows, she speeds up, and there—perfect synchrony for just a moment.  Rey does her best to bring her knees up on either side of him. She’s still half in her sweatpants, so she can’t get her legs around him, but at least with her knees tucked up he can push deeper.  She grabs hold of his ass through his jeans, tugging him closer to her, wanting to pull him in so deep that she’ll feel him inside her even after they’re done.

He’s groaning into her mouth now, his hips stuttering.  He runs his fingers through her hair and it takes her a moment to realize what he’s saying when he says it, because he says it into her lips as though he’s breathing it into her soul.  

“I love you.”

The words ring in her ears, ring in her heart, echo their way through her pulse as he comes.  There’s something wet on her face—her tears again, or his?—and a heat inside her that has never been there before her.  Ben’s heat. Ben’s love. 

He’s breathing hard now, and not moving.  His lips are motionless. But he brings fumbling fingers between her legs and tries to find her clit in the folds of her cunt.

His lips leave hers to press kisses to her cheek, to whisper it in her ears again like a prayer.  “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you.” And her own voice joins with his in perfect harmony and before she’s even finished saying it, her body is rolling, her sex is throbbing, and she’s crying—it’s definitely her crying even if she also feels him trembling, hears him trying very hard to breathe normally.

Slowly, he pulls himself out of her, but she keeps her arms wrapped around him, pulls him down to her chest and he rests the full weight of him down on her for the first time.

“I—I wasn’t expecting this,” he says after a while, his face still buried in her neck.

“Well, you built me a blanket fort,” Rey tells him.  She’s running her fingers through his hair. She loves his hair.  It’s so soft. He takes good care of it. “And brought me hot chocolate.”

“It’s a good blanket fort,” Ben says.  

“It’s the best blanket fort.”

“Rey—I—”

“I love you,” she tells him and he stops talking.  “I do.”

He pulls his face out of her neck.  She can see her soul in his eyes.

“I love you,” he tells her.  And he buries his face in her neck again.


	16. The Devil's In The Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon Compliant/Divergent - Sometimes Leia Organa is an unwilling participant in the author’s oedipal obsession, Anal Play, Oral Sex, Mentions of various forms of fisting, mentions of cumplay, 69-ing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to formally apologize to Leia Organa for this, and all the other Freudian Bullshit, I include her in because I'm "Kylo AKA Oedipus Ren Trash."
> 
> Luke can dealtho.

The Force moves in mysterious ways.

That is something she’s always known.

She hates the phrase  _ things happen for a reason _ .  She’d heard it many times throughout her life, usually during misguided attempts at comfort.   _ Things happen for a reason. _

Yes, and that reason was Tarkin’s cruelty.  Don’t pretend that the destruction of her homeworld was the Force.

Han forgot his prophylactic, and the timing was right and then there was Ben.  It wasn’t the Force moving in mysterious ways. There wasn’t a reason for that unplanned pregnancy.  Only an explanation.

Luke sacrificed himself so they could escape.  He sacrificed himself to atone for his own mistakes; to help Ben atone for his.  He died with purpose—but it wasn’t an unknown...it wasn’t…

There’s a difference between the Force moving in mysterious ways, and things just happening for a reason.

But Leia hopes to every hint of the light that there’s a reason for  _ this _ .

 

-

 

Rey is kissing her way across Ben’s chest, slowly, sloppily, her tongue tracing the edges of his skin.  She peeks up at him and he’s watching her, his eyes guarded. There’s a confidence in Ben Solo that she’s always found curiously at odds with the way he looks at her.  He is assured of some things—how smart he is, how strong—but those are things that he has tangible evidence of. That she has reason to care about him, that she  _ would _ care about him—that, he has trouble believing.

He is shirtless, and his cock is straining at his pants.  His cock is eager—Rey assumes from lack of experience. She’s caught flickers of his own thoughts, memories of him palming it, imagining that because she’d pressed her palm to his that it’s her touch and not his that makes him feel— _ neither are you. _

She sucks on his nipple, bites down on the muscle of his chest, rests her forehead against his heart as he labors for breath.  It’s the intimacy, he doesn’t know what to do with.

Rey doesn’t know what to do with it either.

There are scars here—scars she recognizes and scars she doesn’t.  A bowcaster blast, a slice from a lightsaber—but the others? She kisses each one.   _ You lived _ , she tells him silently.   _ You are loved. _

_ So are you.  _ His words flit across her mind and she pauses to smile up at him.  

This was how she’d fallen in love with Kylo Ren.  She hadn’t known what it meant, to fall in love, to be loved, to let herself be loved.

She kisses him out of his clothes, kisses him through his nervousness at his hands touching her skin.  She kisses him through the sting of the way she slides onto him, kisses him as he falls apart too soon, kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

 

-

 

There are many things that Leia regrets about the way she handled herself raising Ben.  Hindsight is clearer than foresight—always—and she could never have known that he would feel so alone, that Snoke would prey on that, that what she perceived as him trying to draw attention to himself, something he’d need to learn to live with, was a real and present threat.  She can try to forgive herself for that—by being as good a mother as she can be  _ now _ .  Perhaps too little, too late, but she has never been one to give up before she starts to try.

But this—this is too much.

She is very happy for Rey.  She  _ likes _ Rey.  She feels her heart constrict in her chest every time she sees Rey and Ben looking at each other as though they’ve found the most precious thing in the galaxy, the way they seem to curl around one another protectively whenever they’re near one another.

She absolutely does not need the Force to tell her when Rey is sucking her son’s cock, or when Ben is pressing into her ass, or when—god—the two of them spend over an hour fitting Ben’s entire hand inside Rey’s vagina.  She doesn’t need to know that. She really doesn’t.

_ Is this punishment _ ? She wonders when she knows that somewhere, Ben’s sticking his tongue in Rey again, curling it up to make Rey squirm in his hands, and she knows—just knows—how much he enjoys it.  Her son, her baby boy—she remembers holding him when he was small, remembers him as a grown man, crying and begging her for help because no one ever helped him but he couldn’t bear it all alone.  

She wants to think of her son as her son and not as—

She closes her eyes.

She wonders what Han would say about all this.  Would he laugh? Make some sort of glib joke? Or would he wince and take her hand and understand because now  _ he’s _ thinking about it, too, and neither of them wants to think about—about—

 

-

 

Ben groans.

Rey likes it when he’s loud.  He likes it when he can be loud.  Too much of his life has been about  _ quiet Ben, control yourself Ben, don’t break First Order Property Ren.   _ But Rey likes it when she can hear him.

“You like that, don’t you?” she asks as she traces his asshole again.  “You like it.”

“Yes—fuck—”

He feels like his whole body is on fire, but in a good way.  Not the way Snoke made him feel, the punishments to make him strong.  He feels alive, burning like this, waiting for her to press her fingers  _ in, please, just please, Rey please. _

“You’re babbling,” she teases, and she bends her head down and licks a hot wet stripe along his cock.  “I love it when you babble.”

“I love you,” he blurts out.  Blurts, because he tries to be intentional when he says it to her, tries to let her know that she means more than the galaxy.  But sometimes he has to blurt it out, like—fuck— _ fuck _ —when she’s pressing a well lubricated finger into him and he groans again because every nerve in his body is now focused in on the way Rey makes him feel.  Sometimes he can’t control how he feels. And Rey doesn’t ask him for that.

She only asks him to take another finger.

 

-

 

Leia had studied the Force with Luke.  She had spent time learning some of the intricacies of it.  It had saved her life more than once, and of that, she would be eternally grateful.

Ben said he’d spoken with Luke’s ghost, but Luke had never come to her.

“Coward,” she mutters as the Force starts pinging her brain that now they’re trying to fit Rey’s hand in Ben’s ass, after the success of the other thing that Leia tries with all her might  _ never _ to think about.

“I’m not a coward,” Luke says, amused, materializing semi-transparent next to her.  

“You don’t know what I’m experiencing,” she snaps at him, trying to ignore the way she’s sure Ben’s hand is clenching in the sheets beneath him, the way he’s babbling again because he  _ always _ babbles.  Rey loves his words, his lack of control.

“Don’t I?” Luke asks, arching an eyebrow. And then, pained, “You think I don’t experience this too? That I haven’t  _ seen _ it?”

That makes Leia feel marginally better.

 

-

 

She’s got three of his fingers inside her as he licks at her cunt again and honestly—Rey didn’t know what her life would be.  She’d always thought—hoped—that her family would come back for her, but apart from that—nothing particularly conclusive.

She’d certainly never imagined this, wave after wave of orgasm just because Ben likes to taste her.  She’d never imagined stretching herself to the limits of what she thinks her body can tolerate, just to feel the joy of knowing that Ben’s making her feel this way, Ben’s making her feel good, and safe, with his long tongue, his wide fingers, and his soft dark hair.  

When he’s done licking her, he kisses his way up her stomach, up her chest, and cups her face with fingers that are still wet from being inside her.  She slides her tongue into his mouth because she loves the way she tastes in there, knowing that he’s clinging to the memory of it for as long as he can.

She rolls him onto his back and slides onto him and leans her head forward, letting her hair fall forward and brush along his chest.   _ Yes, _ she thinks.   _ Yes, just like that. _

_ Reyyyyyyyyyy,  _ long, and not aloud, but so full of overwhelming pleasure that all she can do is jerk her hips faster, and faster, slide along his length more and more and more because she wants him never to stop saying her name, never to stop feeling as good as he makes her feel.

 

-

 

“Focus, control,” Luke tells her and she does her best.  She does.

She’d been impulsive in her youth.  She’d learned restraint as she’d grown older.  Now, she must learn control. Control—like what she’d always asked of Ben.

She can’t remember why she’d quit lessons with Luke the first time around.  Maybe because of  _ this _ precisely.  Control is not something that comes easily to her.  Control and restraint aren’t the same when it comes to the Force, though they are similar in other spheres of her life.  

“This isn’t working,” she snaps at Luke, annoyed because her focus has shifted and suddenly she can feel the way Ben is working himself into an earth-shattering orgasm, covering Rey’s face with his spend. She doesn’t need to know how delighted they both are with this, how she starts to wipe it away and lick it from her fingers while looking up at him.

There are some things a mother should never know.

 

-

 

He pulls her down onto his face and just starts to lick.  He likes this angle best, he decides. He doesn’t have to worry about the tilt of his head, doesn’t have to worry about his neck getting tired.  He can just lie there with her stretched up over his face and let her drip all over him until they’re done. 

The view’s not bad either.  Rey’s always had a truly spectacular ass.  From running through sand, he’d always assumed; and then just that she’s constantly fit.  He’s buried his tongue in her asshole before, tight and sensitive. If he wants, he can lick down to the bottom of her slit and nudge it with her nose.  In fact, he thinks he’s going to do just that.

She moans, and bucks her hips, and dribbles all over his chin, and he grins and goes back to her slit.  

She comes quickly, and he slides his tongue inside her.  Her clit will be too sensitive, almost painfully so, but she’ll want something to grip around, and he loves the way her cunt clenches around his tongue.  There’s nothing in the world like that, the way her muscles roll around him. The tongue is the strongest muscle in the body proportional to its size, but Rey’s cunt is a marvel.  She has fit his fist in it, she has fucked and fucked and fucked him, and when it grips his tongue he feels truly as though he is being shown what true strength is.

Nothing could have prepared him for her.  Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Slowly, the aftershocks fade and he slides out of her again.  He traces her labia, licking up what traces of her he can find, and then he returns to her clit.  She falls forward onto her elbows and he hears her breathing—shallow, but she’s trying to breathe deep.  The orgasms hit her harder when she breathes more deeply. 

Her nipples are just stiff enough that he can feel them ghosting over his lower abdomen.  He feels his dick twitch. Maybe at the end of this, she’ll let him fuck her tits. He likes doing that.  She says it’s weird—that she doesn’t even have enough cleavage to fully encase his cock, but there’s something incredible about seeing him slide between her breasts.  It’s like watching his cock slide between her ass cheeks, slide inside her, whichever way he can get. Rey and him and whatever their whim is—nothing holding them back, both of them just taking such joy in one another’s bodies.

Her mouth finds the tip of his cock and he groans into her lower lips.  No—no he won’t get to fuck her tits later, but this is fine too, the way that Rey just traces the tip of his cock with her tongue until he’s falling apart.  His torso is too long for him to be able to sink fully into her mouth, but this—this is enough from Rey. Enough because he’ll go as long as he’ll go, as long as she’ll let him go, and when she pulls her cunt away from his face, she’ll take him deep into her mouth and finish him off and then lie there on his chest, giving him the best view of his life.

They balance each other out in so many ways, he thinks as his tongue swirls over her clit in time with her tongue swirling over his tip.  This is perfection. How hard he had worked to get here, how hard he’ll work to stay here, forever in her heart, forever between her legs.

 

-

 

But at last, things start to change.  She starts to know  _ when _ but not how.  She can take  _ when _ but not how.  She wants her son to be loved.  And god knows Rey deserves love too.  She loves that they love each other, that they can learn how to love themselves with one another.

She just doesn’t need the explicit details, is all.


	17. Constrained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant/divergent - Established Relationship, Orgasm Denial, Role Play, Bondage, Force Bond, The Force is a Sex Toy, Manual Sex, Cunnilingus, Anal Play, Titty Fucking, Pearl Necklace, Cum Eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking vague inspiration from a prompt from diasterisms from several months ago, as well as a Certain Thing That Happened in [_Conquerors_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442951/chapters/25645101)

Ben takes ten deep breaths, in and out.  

In the next room, he can sense Rey getting ready.  She’s pulled her hair back into three tight little buns—just like when he’d first found her.  This time, though, she knows her power. This time, when he feels the gentle pressure of her thought against his, she knows what she’s doing. She’s checking, rather than lashing out in defense.  

_ Ready? _

Ben reaches for the cage on the table in front of him.  He lets the soft dark pants he’s wearing drop to the floor and he locks the cage in place over his cock.  He’s not hard yet and the thing slips around a little bit as he moves to the door, tugging his shirt off over his head.

_ Are you? _

She’s standing there, just on the other side of the door.  Her hands are limp at her side and she, too, is breathing. 

_ Yes. _

And he reaches out.  Through the doors, he hears her squeak in surprise but she doesn’t struggle as he uses the force to strip her clothes from her body and send her towards the rack.  He snaps the durasteel cuffs into place around her wrists and ankles and adjusts the rack to widen her legs just enough. 

Only then does he open the door and go into the room.

The sight of her takes his breath away.  She is breathing hard and her small nipples are tight, though whether from their sudden exposure to the cool temperature of the room or because she’s aroused, he’s not sure yet.  Her muscles are tense under her skin, her six-pack sending blood straight to his groin, and her light pink slit peeping out from where it’s concealed between the tuft of hair growing between her legs.  

“Are you comfortable?” he asks her.

“Is this how you treat all your prisoners?” she asks him.

“You’re my guest.”

“Your guest?” She arches an eyebrow and pretends to struggle against the constraints at her wrists.  He sees the way she bows her back slightly, pressing her shoulders against the rack so that her chest juts out.  “Your hospitality leaves something to be desired.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he says casually.  He closes the door behind him and crosses the room.  

“Release me, and I’ll consider it,” she says. 

He just shakes his head.  “No, I think not.” 

“So I  _ am _ your prisoner.”  

_ Not this time,  _ he thinks.  She could easily unbind the manacles at her wrist, easily summon a lightsaber to her hand and run him through.  But no. 

He doesn’t realize that his feet have taken him towards her until he is standing between her legs.  Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, and he watches as her tongue licks at her lower lip. Quick as a flash, his hand darts out and he plucks her tongue between his fingers.  “What’s this?” he asks her, letting it go so she can answer.

“I’m thirsty.  I could use some water,” she replies dryly.  “Or do you prefer your  _ guests _ dehydrated.”

He inclines his head and across the room, he fills a cup with water.  He flicks his fingers and the glass comes to her lips, tilting water against them.  She drinks, but the motion isn’t smooth and soon water is dribbling down the sides of her mouth and dripping onto her chest, rolling slowly towards each of her tits.  With a thumb, he wipes up the drops that are inching their way towards her nipples. “Careful,” he says to her. He waves his hand again and the water is gone. 

“Better?” he asks her.  

“Much.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

His mouth is dry.  His cock is hard in its cage now, the weight of the metal pressing against the top of it—the only thing that will touch him until Rey lets him take it off.  It’s what he’d wanted—the cage around his cock, just as she’d wanted to be strapped to the rack.  _ I know you’ll take care of me,  _ she’d said, her hand cupping his cheek.   _ I trust you. _

The rest is just the game, just for show.  

“Now,” he says, looking down at her.  “If you’re done trying to distract me—”

“Distract you from  _ what _ , precisely?  Torturing me? Invading my mind?”

“Is that all you can imagine this to be?” he asks.

“You’re  _ Kylo Ren _ ,” she retorts and she sounds a little breathless.  “You’re a monster.”

_ I’m your monster, _ he thinks, remembering coming to in her arms, covered in blood and more confused than he’d ever been in his life because he had died, he knows he’d died.  She’s the life of him, really.

“I think you’ll find I’m far more agreeable once you get to know me.”

“Release me, and I’ll consider it,” Rey says again.

“You keep trying to—“

“Distract you,” she snaps. 

“Are you so afraid of your own pleasure?”

Her eyebrows shoot up.

_ That’s the line you’re going with?  _ floats across his mind, lovingly and bemused.

_ You’re being a little too realistic.  Just go with it. Or else we’re going to be doing this for the next half-hour and that seems like a waste of time. _

He half expects her to roll her eyes, but she doesn’t.  She doesn’t even break character. “My own pleasure?” Breathless.  His cock twitches in the cage.

“Why do you think you’re here?”

“Because you’re a monster.  Because you want to destroy everything.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”  He reaches out to trace where the water had dribbled down her chest again, tracing its trajectory until his finger is circling her nipple.  “You’ve been alone for so long. Desperate for so long. Don’t you think it’s time for that desperation to end?”

“I don’t—what are you—“

“I can teach you,” he says—so much more in control than when he’d shouted it at her in the snow.  “You need a teacher.”

“I don’t need—“ but her retort turns into a surprised whimper as he pinches her nipple lightly, rolling it between two fingers.  

“Oh—but you do need,” he tells her, rolling it again and again, his other hand drifting between her legs.   _ Gods _ she’s wet.  He’s barely touched her and she’s this wet.  He could probably put three fingers inside her already. He could probably hilt himself in her—cage and all.  But that would hurt her. And he will not ever hurt her. Tease her until she begs, perhaps, but she wants that.  He won’t risk the steel tearing at her flesh. “You need so much. And I can give it to you.”

She doesn’t reply.  She doesn’t have a reply.  With the edges of his mind, he nudges hers, but there are no words.  Just an incoherent wave of  _ yes,  _ maybe mixed with a hint of  _ more _ .

“Do you want me to give it to you?” he asks her, enjoying the way her eyes have fluttered shut, the way her teeth are worrying at her lower lip.  “Pleasure the likes of which you can’t imagine? The likes of which you’ve never known—never thought you deserved.”

_ Too real?  _ he asks her.

_ I love you. _

“I can imagine a whole lot,” she replies aloud.  Her eyes are still closed, her voice sounds strained. 

_ I love you too. _

“What can you imagine?” he asks her.  He’s tracing the seam of her now, his fingers dipping between her outer and inner labia, ghosting past her clit.  Every time they do, her hips twitch towards his hand, wanting him to touch her there. But no—not yet. Not while she’s still playing this game.  Oh yes, he could make her submit easily, make her beg just by toying with it until she loses all sense of herself. 

“Why don’t you just take it from my mind, like you took my memories,” she snaps angrily.  It makes him smile. He loves her fire, her defiance, even when it’s only foreplay. 

“Why don’t I, indeed?”  He keeps rubbing her slit and waits for her to ask—

“You aren’t—“

“No,” he says firmly.  “Because I want you to tell me.”

“I’ll never tell you,” she replies firmly.

“All right,” he shrugs.  He keeps going, tracing her slit up and down.  He watches as a flush blooms across her chest, the one that means that she’s so ridiculously aroused that she’d probably come from penetration alone.  He can see the way she’s straining not to buck into his hand.  _ And all this from barely touching her _ .  She is a marvel, his Rey.  

“I think,” he says at last.  “That your defiance is counterproductive.”

“Is that so?” She whimpers it this time, and her cheeks heat.  

“Yes,” he says.  “That’s so. Because I think if you just told me what you could imagine, you’d be able to experience life as you deserve to experience it.  You don’t have to live in a desert anymore, Rey. You don’t have to go without. I want to give you the galaxy.”  _ I want you to join me.   _ He would have given her everything.  But all in all, things had shaken out all right in the end.  

“Please,” she begs him.

“Please, what?”

“Please, just—” she lets out a frustrated growl, “Just—touch it, pinch it, do what you were—”

“Like this?” he asks her as he rolls her clit between his fingers, as he’s rolling her nipple still, and she lets out a cry and her whole body convulses and her cunt is gushing now under his fingers.  

Rey is gasping for air and she is so beautiful—so very beautiful.  Her entire body is flushed, her stomach clenched and—because he can’t stop himself—he bends his head to press a kiss to each of the six abdominal muscles he sees there.  He kisses his way up to her chest and sucks a nipple between his teeth. “You see?” he says to her softly. “How much we can be together if you just tell me what you want?”

She doesn’t reply right away.  But when she does, she sounds dazed.  “I want you,” she whispers.

“You want me to what?”

“To… I want you to do what you want.” That’s not defeat in her voice, though.  It’s far more like triumph. “To make me feel the way you think I deserve to feel.”

_ Sweetheart. _

_ Ben—Ben, I— _

The rest is incoherence.

_ Shh, you don’t have to say anything.  I know. _

_ I know you know. _

_ I love you. _

_ I know. _

Slowly he straightens and looks down at her again.

Her cunt is sopping—so much so that he sees strings of her slick dripping down towards the floor.

“You’re making a mess,” he tells her, and he goes to stand a little bit closer.  

“I’m—“

“Don’t apologize,” he says.  “You’ve never been able to make a mess like this before, have you.”

Down and down that string of slick is dropping, a divine nectar.  He wants to catch it with his fingers, catch it with his tongue. But no—down and down and down it drips until it lands right on his cock through the bars of the cage.  He lets out a groan. It’s so warm, it sends a jolt through his whole cock. It’s the closest thing he’ll feel to touch for a while, the closest to her cunt his cock will get while he’s still caged.

“Should I clean up after myself?” she asks him breathlessly.

“No,” he says and he eases himself down onto his knees.  “No, I will take care of that.” The cage rubs against his cock, against the drops of her slick there, and his eyes roll against the back of his head.  He wants to pump himself, to grab himself to fondle his balls. He wants to press his cock to her lips, wants to spatter cum all over her constrained body.  But no—no. He doesn’t get to do that. 

He does get to lick Rey clean, though, his tongue dipping between each of her folds.  He catches each and every drop of her he can find and then spreads her lips as wide as he can and slides his tongue into her, curling it up.  He has a long tongue. At least—that’s what he thinks based on the way he can make Rey feel. He curls it up to stroke against her inner walls, against the sensitive ridge just beneath her clit.  He strokes her with his tongue, nudging her clit with his nose, his fingers tracing circles against the insides of her thighs. He hears her whimpering, feels her trying to move her legs. Ordinarily, when he’s got his face between her thighs, he has to hold her legs apart because she’ll try and snap them around his head, but now he doesn’t have to worry about that.  She doesn’t either. 

“Let go,” he tells her when he pauses to catch his breath, to rest his tongue.  “You’re still holding on.” And then he slides his tongue back into her, trails a finger down the crevice between her ass and circles at the puckered hole there with her own slick.  His fingers are large and blunt, and she’s dripped so much that her ass is coated with her own slick already. Not enough to take his cock—not that his cock is going anywhere inside her until she undoes the cage—but enough for him to comfortably nudge his fingers into her.  

“Oh—Ben—I—” he hears her call.  She’s coming again, and he loves the feeling of her around his tongue.  He loves being able to taste her as her muscles convulse around his face, as she coats his lips, his cheeks with more gushing fluid and her clit throbs uncontrollably against his nose.  

“Ben?” he asks at her, teasingly.  “I thought I was a monster.”

“You are,” she replies weakly, forgetting.  He chuckles into her cunt. 

“More pleasure than you know what to do with,” he promises it—to her—to himself.  He pulls his finger out of her ass and stands to look at her again.

It’s like before, only she looks more melted.  Her muscles are no longer bulging at the constraints, her hair is a little more wild because she must have tossed her head back and forth a little, pulling those lovely little buns loose.  Her nipples are so stiff they’re standing out nearly half an inch from her chest, and her eyes are closed, her lips parted. So beautiful. Does she know what she does to him? 

His cock is so hard in its cage.  It feels like it swells more the longer he looks at her.  Part of him fears that he’ll swell past the metal and it will start to cut into his skin painfully.  He’d endure it for Rey, though. He would—though he suspects that she wouldn’t let it get that far. 

“I’d get a blindfold for you, but I don’t think you can open your eyes,” he remarks.  Her lids flutter, but don’t open. “Yes,” he says. “I don’t think you can.”

He waves his hand and a bottle of lube comes to his hand, as well as Rey’s favorite plug.  He squirts a liberal amount of the lube into his palm and coats the toy, then squirts more of it against her ass, rubbing it against the hole, massaging it inside of her, spreading her before pressing the tip of the toy into her.  “Tell me, do you like having things in your ass?” She moans and nods. “What was that? I couldn’t—“

“Please,” she says.  “Please put it in me.  Please—I like it, I want—“

He presses it into her, slowly, twisting it to make her gasp as the lubed material rubs against her lubed flesh, creating a delicious friction that he knows too well from the nights when it’s Rey pressing a toy into his ass.  She hisses as the plug slides deeper and deeper into her, until it’s fully buried in her, with just a little jewel peeping out of her hole. He bends down to press a kiss to the ring of muscle, licking along the edge of the jewel.  He smiles to himself when he feels her dripping down from his slit his tongue, and his cock twitches against the cage. 

He’s painfully hard now.  His balls are so tight that it hurts to even think about them.   _ Release,  _ his body screams at him.  

_ Not until Rey says so,  _ he tells himself with shaking breath.  He’ll give her as much release as she can handle, and she’ll give him the one release he needs.  

_ Are you all right? _ her words float across his mind.

_ I’m fine. _

_ Are you sure? _

_ I can handle it. _

_ You’re not putting on a brave face, are you? _

If he were his cock, he’d probably be crying and begging.  But the one part of him he’s gotten better at controlling is this—putting himself aside when Rey is before him.  He can take much more, and he will. He will. 

He stands, and runs his fingers along her legs, stroking the wiry brown hair on either side of her cunt.  

“Do you feel full?” he asks her.  

“Not quite,” she replies.  Her voice sounds raspy again and Ben summons more water for her to drink.  She’s even sloppier drinking it this time, more of it splashing down her chest, and faster.  

“My messy guest,” he says, and he bends down to lap the water from her tits, waving the glass of water away again.  

“It wouldn’t be this way if you’d let me use my hands,” she replies, but she’s smiling, relaxed, sated.  

“Only one of us gets to use their hands,” he tells her tits, sucking one of her stiff nipples between his teeth and nipping it in a way that makes her half-squeak half-moan.  

“Please use your hands,” she says.  “Please—Ben—I—”

“You keep calling me Ben.  I thought I was a monster.”

“Only if you deny me the pleasure you promised me,” she shoots back at him, and he grins into her skin and without giving her any warning, any preamble, slides two fingers into her cunt.  She sighs and bucks her hips towards his hands. 

“More?”

She nods, her eyes squeezed shut again, and he adds another finger and pumps them in and out of her, hard and fast.  She’s squelching she’s so wet, and gasping. “Gods—I—”

“Do you feel full now?”

“I wish it were your cock,” she moans.

“You’re the one with the power over that,” he reminds her, curling his fingers as he pumps them.  But when he tests the edges of her mind again, she’s too lost in it all to be able to formulate a response, much less to control the Force enough to unlock him.  A flaw in the plan, he supposes. He could release himself, take her words as a sign, but no—no, they have an agreement. It doesn’t matter how much he wants—how much he needs—

She’s so warm and soft against his fingers—his fingers, which are far less sensitive than his cock for the callouses that cover them.  His cock, which could be buried into her to the hilt right now, feeling the pressure of the plug, the way her walls are tremoring—though whether in anticipation of the next orgasm or still recovering from the last one, he wouldn’t know.  He can’t know. He can’t think about it, because when he does, the metal cage seems that much crueler, that much harsher. And how much sweeter it will be when he is free of it. 

He sucks on the skin of her breasts, peppering it with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, some of which, he is sure, will turn into discolorations that will remind them both of this for days.  Her breasts are heaving with her chest as she breathes raggedly, as she lets the pleasure wash over her again, and again, and again, until she’s an incoherent mess all over again. He thinks she’s trying to form words.  But she isn’t. She can’t.

Her cunt is clutching at his fingers, unwilling to let him go even as she rides an orgasm that is so strong, it has brought tears to her eyes.  Because of course she’s holding onto him—the one way she can while her hands are bound. 

His hand drifts down to the plug in her ass.  He pulls at the little gemmed base, and Rey lets out a guttural groan, slowly, he eases it out of her and lets it fall to the floor.  She’s breathing so hard, the muscles of her stomach are clenched tightly and Ben takes a deep breath.  _ One more _ , he thinks.  Is it too much?  He doesn’t think so.  And if it is, she’ll tell him.  She’s so stimulated right now that it will be fast, anyway.

He shifts his fingers around inside her, and slides his pinky into her.  

“Gods,” she cries out, her whole body writhing.  He doesn’t go deep with his four fingers. She’s so tight around him, so very tight.  Tight and clenching, and he bites down on one of her nipples as he pinches her clit, and this time she yells when she comes, long and shaky as her chest works to bring oxygen through her body, as blood flows through her making her feel hot and cold and alive.  

Slowly, she relaxes enough for him to pull his fingers from her.  He lifts them to her lips and she opens her mouth and sucks them down.  “That’s what you taste like when you are treated the way you should be treated,” he tells her.  “That’s what your joy tastes like. Remember that.”

“Ben,” she moans again—but she catches herself this time.  Her eyes drift open at last, lazy, sated, and the cage snaps open and falls to the ground with a clatter.  

He bends his head to kiss her and makes to unbind her wrists and ankles from the rack, but when he reaches out with the Force, he’s met with resistance.

“What’s this?  You wish to stay my guest?” he teases her.

“I don’t want to move,” she whispers.

_ You’ll get stiff if you stay like this much longer. _

_ I know, I just—let me— _

And he’s floating in the air.  Rey is lifting him as easily as she lifts rocks, widening his legs and he’s straddling—not her waist but her ribs, his cock resting just over the bone between her breasts.  How soft her skin is. He could cry, it feels so good. She’s so warm, and flushed, and he can already see some of those discolorations starting to form from where he’d sucked at her.  

“More than I can imagine,” she murmurs up to him.  “I can imagine quite a lot,” she says. And with the Force, she sends him just enough, the feeling of him starting to nudge his hips back and forth between her breasts.  “What can you imagine, Ren? That I’m yours?”

And he understands.  

His hands drop to her breasts and he pushes them together on either side of his cock.  They’re too small to completely cover it, but at this point he couldn’t even begin to care.  At this point, he could probably come from the look in her eyes alone as he bucks his hips against her chest, wholly and completely supported by her holding him up.  “Rey,” he groans. The sides of her breasts are so soft. He loves that—that they’re soft, that the undersides are soft, and sensitive. He thumbs at her nipples as he rocks back and forth, and god his cock looks huge as he pushes it in and out.  

He summons the bottle of lube back to his hand, and without really any attempt at precision, squirts an amount of it down onto her chest, and everything gets clearer—the pulsing of his heart, the way she feels, the guttural noises coming out of his throat as he pumps his hips.  The bottle clatters to the floor and he hears it bumping against the cock cage, and he thinks it’s the sound, really, that sends him over the edge, spurting white hot spunk against Rey’s throat, coating her with it, more than he really knows how to understand, so much that it’s dripping off the side of her neck and onto the rack.  

And she is looking up at him with such love.  He’s just covered her throat and parts of her chin and hair with his cum and she’s looking at him like—

Well, like he’s pleasured her better than she could imagine.

She lifts him again so that now he’s lying on top of her, and he hears the cuffs snap open.  The rack moves so that her legs are a little less spread, and she wiggles underneath him, testing her stiff muscles before wrapping her arms around him.

Out of instinct, he buries his face in her neck and then freezes when his cum starts to coat his face.  

Rey bursts out laughing.

“Messy Ben,” she laughs.  “Am I going to have to clean you up?”

“Let me clean you up first,” he laughs and begins licking at her neck, tasting salt from her sweat and tang from his cum.  He loves the way his cum tastes when it’s mixed with Rey. At some point, she drags his face up to hers and licks him clean before sliding her tongue into his mouth, and the world slows as they kiss.  

“Good?” he asks her.

“I love you.”  He never gets tired of hearing her say it.  “Gods, Ben—I—that was—I don’t know when I’ll be able to move again.”

“You never have to move, if you don’t want to,” he tells her with another kiss.  

“As long as I get to hold you, that sounds fine to me.”

“You can hold me as long as you like.”

_ For as long as you’ll have me. _

_ Good because I want you for forever. _


	18. Have Your Cake (and Eat It Too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Feeding Kink, Food, Chubby Rey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s lots of food stuff in this chapter (as in, actively eating during sex and that being encouraged) so if that's something you'd prefer not to read, I encourage skipping this one!
> 
> This is another one where I’d say that if this were IRL, Ben and Rey might be risking some UTIs, but I stand by my “let them live their best fanfic life” statement.

Rey hums delightedly as she takes a bite of the cake.  It’s chocolate, so rich that she can practically taste the butter.  And she likes butter. Everything that’s good in the world has butter.  And everything that’s better in the world has both butter and chocolate.  

Ben picks good chocolate when he bakes.  It’s not the cheap shit she’d eaten as a girl—never bought for herself, always scrounged, desperate because chocolate was  _ so good.   _ It’s rich, and dark, and has a high cacao content.  The bitter blends with the sweet so perfectly in Ben’s cakes.  

“I love watching you eat for pleasure,” Ben says.  He has a piece of cake on his plate, too, and he’s nearly finished it.  Rey’s still got more than half of hers in front of her. She takes a small piece with her spoon and puts it in her mouth, closing her eyes and humming again as she slowly licks off the chocolate.  “I love watching you eat generally, but this…” his voice fades and she can hear the smile on his lips, because her eyes are closed as she enjoys the taste of chocolate on her tongue. 

Ben had promised her in their wedding vows that he would feed her every day.  She’d thought it was a joke at the time, had laughed with happy tears in her eyes as he’d grinned down at her.  But he’d taken it seriously. Every day when she comes home, he cooks her something new. As her colleagues go on fad diets to lose weight, Rey slowly gains it as Ben feeds her all the food she’d never had growing up.  Once, she’d been slender—wiry, but ultimately barely more than a wisp. Now she’s heavier, her breasts and hips are larger, her belly rolls with fat over her muscles, and Ben kisses her more deeply with every pant size she gains.

She takes another bite of cake and sighs happily as she licks the cake from the spoon, leaving the stainless steel in her mouth just a little while longer.  She hears Ben get up, put his plate in the sink, and then go to the refrigerator. A moment later, he’s standing over her shoulder. “Do you want ice cream?” he asks her and she opens her eyes.  Vanilla ice cream is sitting on the table next to the cake and she tilts her head back. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”  He scoops some of the ice cream right on top of her cake and Rey takes another happy bite.  He’s massaging her breasts now as he stands over her and that’s the one thing that’s better than chocolate, Ben touching her while she’s eating.

“You look like you do when you’re about to come, eating this cake,” he whispers in her ear.

“It’s good fucking cake.”

“I know it is.” His voice is low, a gravelly growl that sends a shiver up Rey’s spine.  “That’s why I make it for you. Because I want you to look like that when you eat something I’ve made for you.”

She takes another bite—this one with more ice cream, and the goosebumps rising across her skin, the way her nipples are pebbling through her bra—that has nothing to do with the cool of the vanilla on her tongue.  

Ben’s nibbling on her ear now.  Her eyes are closed and she can imagine him bending down behind her, licking along the cartilage until he finds the fleshy lobe at the bottom.  He sucks it between those plush lips of his the way he’s sucked on her clit how many times, and she sighs happily as his large hand hefts her breast.

She fills his whole palm.  She didn’t when they got married, but now she does.  It feels substantial when he caresses her. She likes the weight of it as they roll in his hands.  

Another bite of chocolate and—“I love the salt chunks,” she murmurs.  He puts sea salt on the surface and one of them had landed so perfectly on her tongue, the salty adding itself to the perfect balance of sweet and bitter and chocolate.  “It just makes everything—” his lips drop from her earlobe to her neck and he sucks there, hard, “—better.”

“It makes me think of you,” he murmurs into her neck.  “A little bit of you in there with all that chocolate.”

“Oh?” she asks him.  His left hand is drifting south, from her breast to the front of her jeans, and he slides his fingers into her pants and begins to circle at her clit.  

“You’ve tasted yourself,” he says, “You know how salty you are.  If I could coat that cake in your cum, I would.” He rolls her clit lightly between his fingers, but she’s unsure if it’s that or the thought of her mixed with chocolate that makes her whimper.  She’s starting to throb right now, and she takes another bite of cake to enhance it. “That would be the best cake I could make.  The very best—”

“Get another slice,” Rey tells him and he goes very still.  

Then he kisses her neck one last time and he’s gone.  Quickly, Rey shucks off her pants and slides her fingers into herself.  She’s wet. Chocolate always loosens her up a little bit, and Ben’s chocolate cake is—well, he hadn’t been wrong to say she looks the way she does when she’s coming, while eating it.  And then, when he’d been touching her, talking to her—she’s wet. She sighs as she slides her fingers over her sex before slipping them into her, coating them with herself as much as she can.  

Ben returns with a small slice of cake, his eyes burning with anticipation as Rey rubs her dripping fingers over the surface of the cake as if trying to glaze it with her.  Ben doesn’t hesitate. He takes Rey’s fork and a moment later the cake is in his mouth and—

_ “Fuck _ ,” he groans and a moment later he’s on his knees between her legs.  “Fuck, try this.”

She takes a bite and grins to herself.  “That’s quite a flavor combination.”

“My favorite flavor combination,” Ben says and she hands the fork back to him.  He takes another bite of cake and then presses his face between her legs, his tongue lapping at her juices as she shifts in the chair, throwing her legs over his shoulders and sighing happily as he groans into her cunt.

“You’d better be eating more of that cake while I’m doing this,” he growls up at her.  “You’d better be. That’s why I made it—so you could feel good.”

Her hands are shaking as she puts more cake and ice cream on her spoon.  Ben is good at what he does. He loves eating her out, has always loved it.  He’s made the joke—more than once—that she loves eating and he loves eating  _ her _ .  But this is the first time that he’s ever told her to eat while eating her and—

She’s trembling a little bit.  His tongue is swiping up and down her cunt—then pausing, and she hears the sound of the fork on the plate as he takes another bite of cake, and Rey hurries to eat hers so that they have cake in their mouths at the same time.  She groans at the same time as him when he sucks her clit between his lips, licking at it before dipping his tongue down between her folds and— _ fuck _ —she loves the way chocolate feels on her tongue.  She loves the way the ice cream blends with it, the way the salt chunks spark a completely different sensation in her whenever her tongue stumbles upon it.  Sex and chocolate, a classic combination, and  _ oh _ —Ben’s tongue doesn’t ever stumble.  

His breath is hot against her skin, his fingers dance a lovely dance, sliding into her when his tongue is on her clit and coaxing more of her juices out of her.  She can’t see it, but she’s sure— _ sure _ —that he’s got the chocolate plate just under where she’s hanging over the edge of the chair and she’s dripping down onto it, glazing it in her so he can—so he can—

The orgasm is like melting chocolate mixed with butter, smooth and rich and hot.  She melts into the orgasm, melts into Ben, melts into chocolate and vanilla and salt and cum and Ben all over again.

He licks her until there’s no juices left.  He licks her until he’s done with his cake. She brushes his hair out of his face as he finally sits back on his heels.  She leans forward and tastes herself and chocolate on his tongue.


	19. Coitus Porgterruptus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant/divergent - Porgs, Por(g)n?, Porg Parenting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the same verse as [_Ben Solo’s Twelve Therapy Porgs_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893699/chapters/31970889). You don’t have to have read that in order to understand this, though I will be referring to some porgs by names given in that ‘verse.
> 
> Shoutout to thewayofthetrashcompactor, queen of porgs, who read through this one for me.

It’s the porgs, Rey thinks, that humanize him to the rest of the Resistance.  The porgs that trail after him like he’s their overgrown father, that hop up into his lap during meetings, that steal his hair for a black market trade in best nesting materials.  

People go from glaring at him, hating him openly, to being sort of amused by him.  It’s harder to hate someone who keeps having to shove porgs off his shoulder because it hurts when they use their little pointed teeth to try and rip his dark, thick hair straight off his scalp.  

“You’re too gentle with them,” Rey points out to him as he rubs his head.  Smuggler had managed to rip enough hair this time for Ben to let out a frustrated and pained growl at the porg, who has flapped off triumphantly with a chunk of dark hair dangling out of his mouth.  “I know scavengers. They’ll always come back unless you disincentivize it.”

Ben sighs.  “And I can’t.”  He gives her a look.  She knows he can’t. Organa is starting to shed her baby feathers and she still coos and hops after him.  He can’t very well start setting boundaries with porgs when one of them is utterly convinced that he’s her father.  “I don’t think I’d want to, either,” he says. Rey cocks her head, curious.

“King of the porgs?” she asks him and he glares at her.   She grins back.

“It’s comforting, having them around sometimes,” he says.  “Like—there’s a living creature out there that thinks I’m worth something.”

“Even if it’s just the value of your nest-building hair,” Rey teases.  

She doesn’t know why she does it, but she reaches out and runs fingers through his hair, freezing the moment the tips of them brush against his scalp.  His nostrils flare, his eyes snap to hers and Rey’s throat goes very dry. 

“You’re worth something to me,” she hears herself say.  “More than something. A lot more than something.”

She sees his Adam’s apple bob—twice—hears the shaking of his breath.

Then Organa pops up onto his shoulder and starts rubbing herself against Rey’s hand, cooing.  

_ I’m her mom,  _ Rey remembers the half-joke she’d made when the porglet had been sick.  She wonders if Ben’s thinking about that too. Why had it been only half a joke?

“Her feathers are so soft,” she whispers as Organa continues to rub herself against Rey’s skin.  “Like your hair.” She’d meant it, once again, to be a joke—how could Ben’s genetics possibly be passed to a porg of all things—but for some reason her voice won’t—can’t—she keeps sounding so serious, and Ben’s Adam’s apple keeps bobbing and—and—

“Rey,” he says slowly.  And nothing will ever be the same.

 

-

 

They don’t leap into bed immediately.  Nothing would stop them, of course. Ben’s only luxury is the privacy he has in his quarters.  No one would come barging in, interrupting them in states of undress.

No, they spend a good amount of time just holding one another, leaning against one another, breathing the same air, taking tentative tastes of one another’s lips. The first time that Ben’s hand brushes the side of her breast, she makes a squeak that has him pulling back as though shocked.

Then he starts to laugh.

“What?”

“Sorry—you sounded like a porg, and it sort of was the same shape as the top of their heads and—”

And Rey’s giggling too, biting her lip and Ben leans back to hers and he bites her lip too.

 

-

 

The first time that they actually take their clothes off, Rey keeps getting this uncomfortable prickling sensation along her back which it takes her a little too long to realize is the spines from porg feathers poking against her skin.  

“I think they’re Organa’s,” Ben says, taking a closer look, his fingers running along Rey’s back.  “She’s been molting her baby feathers a lot and likes snuggling when she sleeps.”

“I like snuggling in my sleep too,” Rey tells him shyly and he grins and kisses her.  

They do their best to remove Organa’s feathers from the bed; they also do their best to ignore the way they hear her plaintive squawking outside as their bodies connect more deeply than they have before.

“Is this what parenting is like?” Ben asks annoyed as Organa lets out a particularly long, high-pitched wail.  She’s stretched around him, holding onto him, her knees tucked up because that lets him push into her more deeply and she likes feeling him deep inside her.  The stretch stings slightly, but Rey has known hurts that are far less sweet than this, and the deeper he goes, the more that sting fades.

“I wouldn’t know,” Rey says and then, deciding not to dwell on the way that her heart twists at that, she teases, “Did you sob outside your parents’—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“—door while they—”

And his lips are on hers, shutting her up most effectively and she’s laughing and he’s laughing and somehow, both of them laughing while he’s inside her like this is the most perfect she’s ever felt.  And each time Organa cries out in sadness, it only makes them laugh harder, laugh until they’re breathless. 

 

-

 

The trouble with porgs is that they’re significantly more resourceful than everyone thinks they are.  Because of course they are—they’re scavengers, after all.

Which is why she and Ben start having a lot of trouble getting them out of his room when they want to spend time together.  The porgs have nested around Ben Solo. They do not appreciate any attempts to remove them from their nests and that one time was more than enough, thank you very much.  And when Rey tries to get Chewie’s help because Ben is at his wit’s end about it—Chewie and the porgs have a similar understanding to Ben and the porgs, so if anyone could help them find a solution, it’s Chewie—he is markedly unhelpful.

_ “Look, just because I am starting to forgive him doesn’t mean I want to make his life easy,”  _ the Wookiee tells Rey when she goes to him for help.

“But what about making  _ my _ life easy?” she asks.

And Chewie laughs at her.  “ _ I like you, kid.  I like you a lot. But not enough to deny myself the amusement this is causing me.” _

“And if I give you explicit details?” she retorts, leaning on the one weapon she hopes she has.  “Of what it’s like having him inside me?”

Chewie shrugs.  “ _ Nothing more than anything I ever got about Han and Leia.  Do your worst. I’ve been around the block a time or two. _ ”

Rey lets out an annoyed growl.   _ “Think of it this way, _ ” Chewie calls after her as she retreats,  _ “He killed his dad, so I’m doing what Han would do.  Gotta make his life hard with his first girlfriend. It’s honoring him. _ ”

But he’s still laughing even as she rounds the corner and is no longer in his sight line.

 

-

 

After a certain point, they say “screw it,” and just...keep going.  

“It’s not as though they’ve ever cared about whether or not  _ I’m _ around when they copulate,” Ben growls into Rey’s ear as his fingers caress her lips.  “So really, it’s only fair that I not care, right?”

“Well, I certainly don’t,” Rey tells him fondly, wrapping her arms around her neck and sighing.  It feels so good, the light dance of his fingers, the steady beating of his heart. “But I’m glad you got there in the end.”

“Got there?” he half-snorts.  “Forgive me if I didn’t want to look up from you and see a pair of wide, brown, horrified porg eyes staring at me.”

“Two things,” Rey says and she massages the nape of his neck, watching the way his eyelids start to drop as she does so.  “First off, why would you be taking your eyes off me?”

Ben blinks at her, then makes a motion with his eyebrows that cede the point.  

“And secondly…” her voice trails away because she’s lost in his eyes again.  His big, wide, brown porg eyes, the way he’s looking at her now like she’s an angel.  

“Secondly?” he prompts her.

Rey blinks for a moment, then lifts her head and just kisses him, her tongue tracing along his lower lip, rubbing it until he opens his mouth and lets her in.  She kisses him until his hands are rubbing up and down her side, until her hips are canting up, all the better to rub against him with.

Rey is glad that she and Ben didn’t jump into bed together immediately.  She is glad that they had sessions of kissing for hours on end, kissing and exploring, and letting themselves feel the newness of being wanted.  And there will be a time, she’s sure, when she longs for the unhurriedness of it, that time when their lips were all they had or needed. But she is so very glad now that his fingers are sliding into her sex and that she rolls him over onto his back, and that he kisses his way down her chest to suck on her nipples and that she can feel everything he can give her—as much as he wants to.

He fits into her perfectly now.  There’s no sting—just the deeper and deeper part, his hands gripping the muscles of her ass, pulling her groin down to his, pushing his hips up to grind against hers.  Perfect—the way his skin feels against hers, hot and smooth and—

Ben lets out a yell and Rey squeaks because Organa has popped up onto his stomach and is waddling around, between them, nuzzling at—

“No, Organa, no,” Rey says, scooping the porg away from where they’re connected and trying to put her down into Captain’s nest next to Ben’s bed.

Organa squawks and flaps her little wings and a moment later she’s up on the bed again next to Ben, giving him a stern look as though wanting to know  _ why _ exactly, she isn’t being included.  Then the stern look melts into what could only be considered tears because she’s cheeping unhappily and flapping her wings in distress and Rey feels Ben’s dick inside her start to lose its stiffness.  

She clambers off him and a moment later, they are both comforting the distraught porglet, running fingers over her tiny feathers while she huffs and squeaks.  

“It’s ok,” she whispers to the porg.  “We love you—we just also love each other.”

She has  _ no _ idea if the porg can understand her.  She suspects not. But she feels Ben go very still underneath her—like he’s stopped breathing.

Then his lips are on her shoulder, kissing it softly, his eyes still on hers as their fingers brush together over Organa’s feathers.

They move slowly after that, so as not to disturb the porg.  Ben rolls Rey onto her back, and kisses her neck. She arches her back, relishing in the way it feels when her nipples brush across his chest.  She loves his chest. She’s loved it ever since she first saw it, ever since she didn’t know what to do with it. Organa nestles in the crook of Rey’s neck and starts to coo contentedly, rubbing her face against her cheek.

“Is that going to be distracting?” Ben asks her.

“For you or for me?” Rey teases back.  “You’re the one who didn’t want to do this with porgs around.”

“And I am back to standing by that, but I also—” he takes a deep breath and sits back on his knees.  His cock is half-hard again and as he looks down at her, she thinks she sees it start to lengthen. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her.  “You’re so beautiful, Rey.” 

She smiles up at him, and lifts her knees up and lets them fall open and his eyes drop to her slit again.  

“Let’s try and not get distracted, then?” she says.  “If we appease her, she’ll go to sleep, right?” 

She reaches a hand up and strokes Organa’s head and the contented coo turns into a contended purr.  It’s nice, having her hum like that against Rey’s throat, especially when buries his face in the other side of her neck and begins humming his own contentedness there, reverberating from his chest to hers as he starts to rub his still hardening cock against her slit.  

And then he’s inside her again, inside her and filling her up just right.  He pulls her knees up a little higher and she wraps them around his hips, runs a hand over his face, over his chest, along the scar she’d given him while she keeps petting the purring Organa.  Then she brings his lips down to hers and begins to nudge her own hips up and down. 

It’s delicious, the taste of him, the way he feels against her as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts, spreading her, striking an angle in her that takes her breath away.  He moves slowly at first, easing himself back into it before he starts to move faster, his muscles rippling against her, incoherent noises of pleasure coming out of his lips.  

Slowly, the pressure builds—enough for his pace to quicken until he’s positively pistoning his hips into hers, slamming into her so hard that Organa lets out a squawk of indignation when Rey’s shoulder is shoved up the mattress and knocks her out of the comfortable nook she’d decided to sleep in next to Rey’s neck.  But this time, Ben doesn’t stop. He might not have noticed, or maybe he thought that Rey made the noise. His fingers are down between them now, fumbling in circles at the top of her slit, pressing at her clit until she’s gasping and shuddering and clinging to him with everything she has because if she doesn’t hold onto him, she doesn’t know how she’ll keep herself grounded as she comes, and comes, and comes.

He isn’t long to follow, collapsing down onto her and burying himself in her neck.  His hand brushes along her throat, nudging Organa gently, and the porglet coos happily.

“I don’t think I can do that with her interrupting more than once,” Ben says.  “I really don’t think I can.”

“Let’s just hope the other don’t take an interest,” Rey says, turning her head to kiss him.

“Yeah.  That’s a good point.”

When they wake again, they are covered in porgs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [REYREYBUTT DREW ART AND I'M DYING GO LOOK AT IT!!!!](https://twitter.com/ReyreyButt/status/1098601824859373569)


	20. Wednesday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Phone Sex/Skype Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Established relationship

“Is this angle good?”

“Camera up a little bit?”

“Will you still be able to see?”

“I’m getting too much of the bed and not enough of your face.”

Rey gives him the dopiest smile, and he gives her the dopiest one back.

She’s sitting naked on their bed, using his laptop because it has a better camera than hers, and because she misses him.  She misses him so much. He’s been gone for forty-eight hours, and it’s a little ridiculous how much she misses him. He’ll be back on Friday.  And jetlagged, he has warned her, which means he’ll be happy to fuck her for two hours longer than he usually does because his body will still be in Pacific Standard Time.  

He’s in his hotel room on his phone.  She can only really see his face but that’s sort of ok.  They had agreed via text earlier that day that this would be better than him using his work computer for this, even if it meant she wouldn’t get to see him.

**Rey:** Honestly, there’s something a little bit hot about you being able to see me, and me not being able to see you.  
  
**Ben:** You’ll see my face.  
  
**Rey:** You know what I mean.  
  
**Ben:** I do, I’m just giving you shit.  
  
**Rey:** Plz no.  I do not have a scat kink.  
  
**Ben:** 💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩  
  
**Rey:** You’re the worst and I hate you.  Don’t come back from California, they can keep you. **Rey:** (Except please come back. I miss you.)

“All set?” he asks her.  He sounds a little breathless, and Rey leans over to the bedside table.  She grabs her Airpods and plugs them into her ear, then leans forward to pair them with Ben’s computer.  “Fuck, I love you,” she hears him say, still out of his own speakers. “I love your tits, I love your abs, and I mostly love how close they are to the camera right—” the speakers stop, and his voice is right in her ears through the airpods, “—now.”

“So much for not enough of my face.”

“Well if the option is bedding or face, I’ll pick face.  But if it’s abs and tits or face…”

“Remind me why I like you.”

“I sure never have been able to work that out.”

She scoots back on the bed and spreads her legs and he lets out a long sigh as he looks at her.  “Gorgeous.”

She stretches her arms above her head, cracks her neck from side to side, and fans her hair out on the pillow behind her, settling down against the goose-feather pillows.  (Pillows that were originally Ben’s. He had wanted to burn the cotton-stuffed ones she’d had for years the moment she’d brought them through the door of their bedroom.) Then she reaches for the vibrators that are sitting on the bed besides her.

One is small, and thin, and curves upwards.  It had come free in the packaging for the much nicer vibrator they’d ordered through Amazon.   _G-SPOT STIMULATION_ the packaging had promised, but Rey finds that she can’t really feel anything with it.  It does have its uses, though. She twists it on, and slides it inside her and gives Ben a smile.

“How does that feel?”

She shrugs.  “Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“It sort of slides out of place and doesn’t actually hit my g-spot.”  

“Right.”  Because she’d told him so when they’d first tried using it.  (An attempt that hadn’t really gone on for very long. Ben enjoys watching her use dildos only for so long before he pulls them out of her and sheathes himself in her.  She’d rather have Ben than the internal vibrations that don’t do anywhere near as much as they always promise—any day of the week.) “And the other one?”

She turns it on and sets it against her slit.  She’s not wet yet, so she isn’t going to put it anywhere near her clit.  It’s small, and black, and ovular, and only for external stimulation and this one—this one she and Ben have had a lot of fun with.  She keeps the vibrations low as she traces it along the outer edges of her vulva, while the little pink g-spot simulator hums nearly uselessly inside her.

Ben is breathing loudly in her ear and she looks at the computer.  He is lying sideways on the hotel bed, his hair falling into his face.  His gaze isn’t staring at her because that’s technology with phones—the cameras are too high, so if you want to look at the person you’re talking to, it looks like you’re not looking at them.  And Ben’s clearly staring at her vulva. She smirks, and arches her back, and sighs.

“What are you doing?” she asks him.

“I’m contemplating the meaning of life and world peace,” Ben replies, and Rey snorts.  “I’m jacking myself off, Rey. Do you know how hot you look like this?”

“No,” she shrugs.  “Tell me more about world peace, since that’s what you’re apparently calling it these days.”

“Hard as a rock,” he says without missing a beat.  “Aching a little bit. I want to be there with you.”

“You are here with me,” she sighs.  “You are. You’re in California, but you’re also here.”

“Not enough to be licking you the way I want to.  Do you know how torturous this is—staring at you and not being able to touch you?  This was both a great and terrible idea.”

“As all the best ideas are,” Rey says.  Her eyes are closed. If she keeps them closed, she can pretend he’s right there next to her.  If she opens her eyes, she’ll see him on the screen between her legs, in that hotel room, and she’ll know just how far away he really is.  “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to kiss you,” he says.  “I want to cup your breasts—which you are understandably neglecting—”

“My hands are a little occupied—”

“Again, understandable—”

“When I’m focusing on my clit more—” he groans; she grins, “—I’ll see what I can do.”  She keeps moving the gently buzzing toy up and down her slit. It’s starting to get a little wetter.  The vibrator is starting to slide out of her, insubstantial and unable to withstand the way her muscles are rolling within her.  Ben talks about that roll sometimes, how good it feels to have her gripping him. She hadn’t ever really thought about what it must be like until the first time he’d been away—her first time with an inserted vibrator—and she’d wanted to just leave it there to do its job but she kept on accidentally pushing it out.  

“I’d be kissing my way down your stomach,” he tells her, his breathing a little ragged.  He must have noticed the way the vibrator is pushing out of her, the way she takes a single finger to push it back inside her at a semi-regular pace.  “I’d be kissing you right until I get to that pretty little cunt of yours. I’d—fuck—”

“What?” she asks, opening her eyes.  He sounds frustrated, or like he’d dropped his phone.

“I just saw you bloom a little.”

“Bloom?” she snorts.  That’s a little poetic, but it’s also unsurprising to her that he thinks about her vagina using dumb metaphors.  He’s probably particularly proud of this one, given her love of plants.

“Like—saw it expand and spread out and drip and—fuck.  Fuck Rey. How much do you think Snoke would kill me if I just caught a redeye back?”

“He’d probably kill you pretty dead,” she replies.  

“Not if I kill him first,” Ben replies darkly.  

“I was blooming,” Rey prompts, her finger swiping along the moisture that’s gathering between her inner labia.  Yes—that’s enough, she thinks, and she presses the vibrator in as deep as it’ll go—Ben hissing in her ear as he watches—and rubs the good vibrator along her entrance, coating it before bringing it up to her clit.  Then she changes the setting to one that alternates between a long high-pressure vibration and a quick low pressure one, and settles it over her clit. She sighs, and nestles back against the pillows, arching her back again, and shifting the other vibrator so that she can use both with one hand—her middle finger dropped down near her slit, pressing it back inside her, her pointer hovering over the buttons of the black vibrator.  

She lies like that for a moment, barely even aware of anything but Ben breathing in her ear as he watches her go.  She feels good now. The vibrations are relaxing and now that the external vibrator is settled over her clit, she can feel the internal one, because the two press in against her clit from opposite sides, amplifying the vibrations of the other.  It does have its uses.

“Rey,” he groans.  “You look so—”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, prompting him.

“So content.” Her eyes are closed again—she doesn’t remember exactly when they closed, just that they did—but she raises an eyebrow.  “Your face,” he says.

“You’re looking at my face?” she snarks.

“It’s quite a nice face,” he says.

“Even when you have my tits and abs and cunt?”

“Especially then,” he says and his voice is low, serious.  “Because when your nipples are that stiff and your cunt is that wet—fuck you look so—I love you.”

“I love you,” she repeats.  “I look so—”

“Content.  Happy. Peaceful.  I don’t know. You’re beautiful.  Now be a good girl and up that vibrator, will you?”

She grins and ups it another level, and now it’s her turn to curse.  The vibrations are no longer relaxing. Not even close. If anything, they’re searing through her, hot and strong, and all she can think about right now is the first time she and Ben used it, when he’d fucked her from behind with it pressed against her and she’d come so hard she’d almost lost consciousness.

She ups it to the next level, and that sound—that low noise—that’s her.  That’s her as she moans. “Ben,” she thinks she says, because that’s what she usually says during sex.  

“Fuck, Rey,” he replies, which is what he usually says during sex.

She wishes the thin vibrator were thicker.  She wishes it were as big as his cock, substantial and there.  Her hips are off the bed as she presses her clit up into the vibrator, her knees rolling back almost of their own accord as she tries to deepen the pressure of the toy against her by spreading her legs and exposing her clit up, and up, and up.

She loves sex with Ben when her hips are tilted up like this.  She loves—

She hears him coming.  She hears the tell-tale way he inhales through the sides of his mouth with a slight whimper, and then he just breathes hard.  She hears his breathing start to steady, and then, low in his voice, “More.”

She ups the pressure again and rides her way through it until her vision whites out and the vibrations against her clit have her coming so hard she has to take the vibrator away, because she’s too sensitive too quickly.  She lets the g-spot stimulator slide out of her, and lets her legs fall to the bed again, spread wide so that Ben can see the way her cunt is contracting as she shudders and tries to get control of her breathing again.

“How’s world peace coming along?” she asks him when she can form words again, and he chuckles.

“I made a mess of it, per usual,” he replies and she grins.  She opens her eyes again. He’s looking at her so softly through the camera on his phone and she reaches down and grabs the laptop and settles it on the bed next to her, right where Ben usually sleeps.

“Stay on the line with me?” she asks him.

“Always,” he replies.  She turns off the light, snuggles herself under her blankets, and turns her gaze back to the screen.  “Love you,” she whispers.

“Love you.  And I’m going to fuck you so very hard on Friday night.”

“You’d better,” she whispers.  For a moment, she almost reaches out a hand to touch his computer screen, to trace along the edge of his face.  

But she catches herself. Instead she grabs one of his dumb but comfortable down pillows and cuddles it against her chest, closing her eyes and listening to his breathing through the airpods.  

She can pretend he’s there with her—because he is there with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [iOS Tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722#workskin)


	21. Let's do this...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Anal Sex, Analingus, Rimjob, Cunnilingus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's another two-parter! Part two will be tomorrow to kick off your weekend!

_ So...what is it you’re interested in. _

Strong start, Rey thinks.  Good grammar. Even if he does have a mundane profile picture that she can’t really trust is real.  Who even has washboard abs like that in real life? A fucking eight-pack? Seriously? But as long as it’s close enough, it’ll be better than some of the guys she’s hooked up with through this thing.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard and she types out,  _ You first. _

She’s not an idiot.  She wants to know what she’s getting herself into.

For a moment, the words  _ Kylo is typing _ flash beneath the chatbox window.  Then.

_ I’ve been wanting to try anal for a while.  I never have before and I’ve heard it’s good. _

Rey nods.  She’s heard that guys like it a lot.  They can’t get enough of anal, if the blogs, magazines, and memes are to be believed.

_ I could do anal,  _ she types back.   _ That works for me. _

_ Is there anything in particular you want to try?  I don’t want to railroad you. _

Oh, but she’d love for him to railroad her—especially if he really does have those abs.

_ Anal was on my list of things to try, so I’m more than content for it. _

_ Awesome.  I’ll bring the equipment. _

They exchange information—he offers to pay for a hotel room, which Rey takes him up on because it seems like the safest option.  She can give Finn a hotel reservation number if she disappears. Not that she’s worried. She’s done hookups from this app before and it’s been fine.  Also—she has a mean right hook and has given multiple assailants black eyes and broken noses. 

She’s not worried.

She’s actually excited.  

She’s going to have anal with a guy with an eight-pack and then not ever have to talk to him ever again.

 

-

 

Kylo is hotter than Rey was expecting.  She was prepared for the eight-pack, she wasn’t prepared for the height.  He’s like twelve feet tall, and has broad shoulders, and narrow hips and pecs that make her literally lose all train of thought for a good fifteen seconds when he shrugs his shirt off.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says, and his voice is low in a way that makes Rey’s whole body start to quiver.  “I brought a lot of lube, though. I have a strap-on as well as a plug because I don’t really—”

“Strap-on?” Rey frowns.  “Aren’t you going to—”

And she realizes it at about the same time that he does, judging from the look on his face.  “You meant you,” they say at the same time. Rey flushes just about purple, and so does Kylo.  

They both just stand there.  Kylo’s shirtless, Rey’s in the process of taking her pants off, it’s—

“I’m sorry,” they say, once again at the same time.  “No—it’s—fine.”

“This is getting creepy,” Rey says and Kylo gives her a half-smile.  

“I should have clarified in the chat,” he says, looking more than a little chagrinned.  “I suppose anal and pegging aren’t the same thing.”

“No, they’re really not,” Rey says.  “So which one are we going to do?” 

“I suppose we both have our own preference, don’t we,” he says.  “Like, I wanted to get pegged and you wanted to as well, right? You’re not interested in pegging?”

“It’s lower on my list,” she says.  He nods. 

“Reasonable.”

They both just stand there.  And, because Rey hates silence, hates waiting, she asks, “Can we compromise?”

“What are you proposing?” he asks quickly.

“You have a plug, right?” she asks him.  “So...maybe we stick that in you, and then you fuck my ass?  It’s not pegging, but it’s something, right?”

Kylo considers, then gives her a sort of devastating crooked smile. 

“Cool.  Works for me.”  And he drops his pants.

Rey was definitely not prepared for the sight of his cock, which is long and thick before it’s hard.  Under ordinary circumstances she’d say that it is rude to stare, but well—that’s going to fit inside her?  Really? Maybe with proper ramp-up she’d be able to fit him in her vagina, but her ass has never…

“I’ll be gentle with you,” he tells her, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Have you fucked someone’s ass before?” she asks.  Now that she knows he’d meant pegging, this feels like a question she needs the answer to—should probably have asked before they’d agreed to a plan.

“Yes,” he says.  “I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.”

That’s when she looks up to his face.  He’s watching her carefully, his dark eyes alert.

She sets her jaw, two reactions at war in her mind.  On the one hand, she is  _ not _ some fragile flower. She’s quick and scrappy.  She does not doubt she could beat him up, for all he’s six foot a million and ripped.  On the other hand, she doesn’t think he meant that condescendingly, and her heart does this weird floppy thing as she looks into his eyes.  And she realizes that, oddly, she does trust him to take good care of her.

_ He’s gonna fuck my butt and then I’m never going to talk to him again. _

She tugs off her shirt and hears him inhale sharply.  She doesn’t wear bras. They’re a waste of time—but more importantly, a waste of money—for tits her size.  He can’t be disappointed—he’s been talking to her for the past ten minutes. She’d be surprised if he  _ hadn’t _ been sizing up her chest the whole time.  She’d been sizing up his.

She shucks her pants down her legs and takes her underwear with them, and when she straightens  he’s just standing there, dumbstruck. 

And his hand is wrapped around his cock.

Which Rey can only take as a compliment.  

“Like what you see?” she asks and she takes a step towards him.  

He opens his mouth, and closes it again, and opens it, and closes it.  Rey smirks. It’s only fair, given how he’d reacted to her staring at his cock.  Which is getting thicker and longer by the second.  _ A shower and a grower?   _ That doesn’t seem either likely or fair.  Or maybe it’s very fair. It’ll depend.

“So, where’s your plug.”

That helps him shake off his—awe? Shock? Shock and awe?  She has the power to shock and awe Kylo. She’ll take that.  

“Here,” he says and he opens up the black bag he’d brought with him.  It’s a fairly small plug, and he hands it to her with a bottle of water-based lube that she has to rip the plastic seal off of in order to open.  

Then he clambers onto the bed on all fours and—

Ok, maybe she shouldn’t have smirked.  She really shouldn’t have smirked. Because the sight of him there on all fours with his ass to her, his cock bobbing between his legs—fuck his legs are muscular.  His back is muscular. What  _ is _ his workout routine?

Rey swallows.  

But it’s game time.  There is no time for nerves.  

She crosses to the bed and runs her hands over his ass.  You could bounce a quarter off of him,  _ holy shit _ .  He trembles a little under her touch—anticipation, if she had to guess.  She cups him, massages him, is sorely tempted to bend her head down and kiss him, just to see what his skin tastes like.  But she doesn’t kiss guys from apps like this. Not even on the skin. Much less on the ass—even if it’s not his asshole. Although that makes her wonder, if they’re doing butt play, would she lick his asshole?  Licking’s different from kissing. She could lick his asshole. She could do that. 

So she does.  

The muscle is tight under her tongue, and not exactly sweet, and she’s not gonna stick it  _ in _ or anything, but circling it around a bit before she covers him in lube...He groans.  “Fuck are you—”

“Is that ok?” she asks.  

In response, he drops his head down on the bed, his back a straight line down, his chest swelling as he takes deep breaths and Rey takes that as a positive sign.  So she licks him again, this time appreciating more the way the muscle puckers and twitches under her tongue. It’s ridged, and the skin is soft. So very soft. She wonders if that’s what he feels like inside.  

_ Next time, I’ll peg him and— _

Wait, hold up. Next time?

There are never ‘next times’.  Rey doesn’t do ‘next times’. She leaves before people have the chance to leave her.  

She pulls her face away from his ass and opens the bottle of lube, squeezing a liberal amount onto her fingers and rubbing it into his hole.  He groans again. “That feels good,” he tells her.

“I’m glad,” she says.  “That’s the point.”

He keeps breathing deeply as she works on slipping one finger inside him.  She’s never done any kind of anal, but she’s pretty sure she needs to stretch him out first.  So she works on that, massaging his ass with one hand while she lubes him and stretches him. After a certain point, she adds another finger and he hisses.  “Too much?”

“No, it’s—” he groans.  That’s when Rey switches to the toy.  She lubes it up carefully and presses it into him.  It’s beautiful, the way he stretches around it. It’s amazing what his ass can do.  She watches as the plug sinks deeper and deeper, watches as his fingers clutch at the hotel’s bedspread, watches as he starts to tremble and shake.

“Can you—”

“Yeah?”

“Can you jerk me off a little?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Rey says and—

Her hand can barely close around his cock, holy shit.  It’s hot and thick and throbbing as she slides it up and down his length.  He groans as her other hand continues to push the toy in.

“If you want to see something good for your ego,” she says, because she can’t help herself, “I’m having trouble closing my grip.”

His eyes fly open and his dick twitches in her hand as she presses the toy into place.  He hisses out another “Fucking fuck,” and for a moment, she wonders if he’s going to come.

He doesn’t.  He does, however, pull himself out of her grip and roll over onto his back, breathing hard as he looks up at her.  His cock is so thick and so red, and the vein along the underside of it is so very lickable. Why does Rey want to lick him all over?  First his ass and now his cock? She wouldn’t say no to licking his abs either, licking her way up his chest, licking those plush lips of his and—

“Do you need a moment?” she asks him, because she cannot let herself think about kissing him.  What is wrong with her? A guy says he’ll take care of her and suddenly she loses all semblance of independence?  Isn’t that exactly what she wants  _ never _ to do?

“I’ll be ok,” he manages.  

“Because you don’t—”

“I’ll be ok,” he says and slowly he sits up.  “Holy shit.”

“You like it in the butt?” she asks, trying to keep her voice light.  Because that’s going to ground her. If she keeps it light, if she keeps it jokey, she won’t have to think about how she’d just thought about kissing him.  She can think about his giant cock in her ass, the way she wants it. 

“I like it in the butt,” Kylo says.  He places his hands on her hips and guides her onto the bed.  She makes to get on all fours the way he was a moment before, but is surprised when he turns her onto her back as though they’re about to do missionary or something.

“It’ll be easier like this,” he says as he raises her knees up so they’re basically by her shoulders.  

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “Also, it means I get to play with your tits.”

She snorts.  “Go nuts.”

“Oh I will.”

There’s something to the seriousness of his tone that makes goosebumps erupt embarrassingly all over her body.  He smirks again.

He doesn’t seem to have the same scruples she does about kissing her skin.  He kisses her shin, then her knee, then sucks one of her nipples into his mouth and she will never, as long as she lives, forget what it looks like with those plush, plump lips on her breast.  He kisses his way down her stomach until he’s just above her crotch.

“May I?” he asks.

“Well if you insist,” she replies dryly, and—

And yeah, he probably could put his money where his mouth is about taking good care of her.  His tongue is very agile as it flicks at her clit, and slides along between her folds before returning to that nub.  

“Holy shit,” Rey hisses, and she’d buck her hips up against his mouth, except that her knees are still up by her shoulders for some reason.  She could drop them, but then he’d have less good access to her clit. She widens them instead, in what she’s sure is a ridiculous position, but she cannot care at all.  This is what sex is supposed to feel like, that feeling like the world is going still, like it’s compressing around you so that all you can think about is how good you feel, how good someone is making you feel.

Which is why she practically shouts, “Motherfucker,” when he pulls his head away.  He grins and begins to rub at her cunt with two long fingers. 

“Don’t worry,” he tells you.  “I’ll take good care of you. I said I would.”

She glares at him, which only seems to delight him, and a moment later he’s squirting lube onto his fingers and rubbing them over her ass, and all the air leaves her lungs.  Right.  Because this was what they’re doing. 

With his other hand, he continues to lazily circle her clit—not enough to get her off, but enough to keep that fire burning low just under her skin.  

“And in,” he murmurs, and she remembers that he hissed when she’d pressed the toy into him when she hisses, too.  It stings. He’s being gentle but it stings, and he keeps rubbing her clit to sooth it. “Breathe,” he tells her. “Breathe, sweetheart, you’re doing great.”

She wants to tell him not to call her sweetheart, but that would mean not gritting her teeth and stopping focusing on her breathing, and he’s right—breathing does help.  His fingers on her clit help. She’s relaxing into it as he pumps his finger in and out of her ass.

“How the fuck are you going to fit?” she asks.  One finger is enough to make her whole body tense.

“Time, and a lot of lube,” he tells her.  “And if it’s too much, we can do other things.”  

“It’s not too much.”

“Yeah, but if it is.”

“It’s not—”

“You were the one who just asked if I was going to fit.  Things might change. I’ll stop if it gets to be too much.  Does it hurt?”

Rey takes a deep breath.  “It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not…” she tries to think of the word, but he’s already squirting more lube onto the edge of her asshole and using his finger to ease it in and out of her.  That helps. The lube is cool, and smooth, and eases the sting, sort of like putting aloe on a sunburn. Except also very much not that. It’s better than that.

“You’re doing great,” he murmurs again, and she feels him trail a second finger over the rim of her muscle, circling at it.  “Do you think you can do another finger?”

“I—” Rey begins, but she doesn’t know.  She literally doesn’t know because she’s never done it.  “I could try.”

And so quickly that she almost doesn’t have the time to process it, he’s bending his head down to kiss her chest, just between her sternum.  Then he adds more lube and works on pressing another one of his fingers in. 

Rey is dazed by the time he’s got three fingers in her ass.  Dazed and a babbling mess. He’s made her come twice already with his other hand, her cunt clenching around nothing but aware that he’s on the other side of her pelvic floor muscles.  It’s strange. It’s incredible. She feels so good that it would be impossible to say that the sting of the muscles that he keeps soothing with lube is her primary experience with this, because it’s not. 

“I want you inside me,” she blurts out, and he smiles—why does he have to smile so softly? Why? It’s not fair, after making her come twice like that.  Her defenses are down—and he bends and kisses her forehead, this time.

“Soon, sweetheart,” he tells her.  “If you think you’re ready.”

Her mind is still on that forehead kiss. Because her mind has gone completely blank after that.

Right.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of her ass and a moment later he’s squirting more lube onto her, and she feels the head of his cock right there and—

The stretch is delicious this time.  How, she doesn’t know, but it is. His fingers are circling her clit, and he’s groaning once she’s stretched wide enough for him.  He presses into her so deep, she thinks she can feel it in her throat. 

“Kylo,” she moans when he’s fully sheathed in her.  He looks just about as dazed as her. 

“Rey.”

“How’s that plug?” she asks him.  And he starts, slowly, to move his hips.  

“Incredible,” he hisses.  “Just—” and he moans, throwing his head back and shuddering over her.  

He’s beautiful like that, on the cusp of coming.  

“Whenever I move it’s—I can’t—I don’t know how to describe it.”

But Rey thinks she understands.  She thinks she gets it. Because that’s how it feels when he’s slowly pumping in and out of her while his fingers tremble on her clit.  Like everything is burning and frozen all at once. Like the world is too much and too little, like she’s not alone, not really.

“Can you—”

“Yeah?”

“Put a finger in my—”

And he does.  With the hand that’s been toying with her clit for the past however long, he slides two fingers— _ fuck fuck oh god fuck— _ into her and continues swiping over her clit with his thumb.

It’s too much.  It’s just enough.  

This time, when she comes, her blood is singing.  Her blood is singing, the light in the dimly lit hotel room seems a little brighter, and there are tears in her eyes.  His hands—his cock—his lips—it’s—

“Fuck,” he groans.  “Fuck I can feel you coming, I—fuck”  And he’s shaking now, too, and from the way he goes still, the way she feels warm inside her now, she’s certain he just came too.

He eases himself out of her slowly and, even more slowly, eases the toy out of his ass and throws it on a towel on the floor.  

Then he collapses on the bed next to her and they lie there in silence for a good, long while.

“Good?” he asks her.

“Yeah.”

She’s pretty sure it’s her body, and not her brain that makes her say what she says next.  Pretty sure that her brain is on vacation and her body is taking over. Or maybe it’s her heart, which is still pounding in her chest as though she’s still got him inside her.

“Let’s do this again sometime?”

A beat; a bated breath.

Then:

“Yeah.  I’d like that.”

“Cool.”


	22. ...again sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Lingerie, Pegging, Spanking, Anal Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h/t to [persimonne](https://twitter.com/persimonne666/status/1091232096297848832) for parts of this one
> 
> A continuation of yeterday's!

“Oh, darling,” Ben calls as he comes through the door.  “I have a gift for you.”

“And I have one for you,” she replies from the bathroom.  Her fingers are running along the edge of the bra. The front is sheer, and has some thorny flowers embroidered on the front that make her nipples look like a rose.  She’d been going for something strappy, something that screamed  _ I’m going to top the fuck out of you, _  and she’s always been weak for plants.  

“Oh?” she hears the floorboards creak under his weight.  “What sort of surprise?”

“The sort that good boys will wait for with their asses in the air,” she replies tartly.  

She can imagine the look on his face, the bemused smile, the mild curiosity mixed with anticipation in his eyes.  

“Well that’s lucky, because that seems to line up nicely with your gift,” he says, and she hears him place something on the floor outside the bathroom door.  “I’ll leave it here for you.”

“You have five minutes, and if you’re  _ very _ good you’ll be fingering yourself.”

“I wouldn’t imagine it otherwise,” Ben replies, and she hears him go into her bedroom.

It’s been a disgustingly short amount of time since they first met.  Rey’s honestly a little embarrassed by how quickly they’d gone from  _ strictly business, fuck me in the ass  _ to playing house a little kinkily.  He gets this dopey smile on his face when she doesn’t think that he’s watching and she—

Buys lingerie, even though she barely has boobs at all and doesn’t really need it, because he’d mentioned in passing that he’d first started fapping to his mother’s underwear catalogues.  The kit had probably cost more than she’d spent on her underwear in her entire life. A sheer bra and crotchless panties and—god help her—a girdle that connects to stockings. She’s wearing  _ stockings _ .  That go up to her thigh and have a lacy edging.  

She feels almost a little ridiculous, but even as she looks at herself in the mirror that fades.   _ Yeah,  _ she thinks, and watches as a catlike grin spreads across her face.   _ He’s gonna get a nosebleed. _

She looks sexy.  

She knows she’s a sexy person.  She’s got a good ass, and good abs, but there’s ‘sexy’, and then there’s ‘fancy lingerie and stockings sexy’.  She’s even got heels in the bathroom with her, and she’s going to put them on. Even if she has trouble walking in heels.  She won’t need to be walking in them very long, anyway.

She fiddles with the girdle for a moment, making sure that it is properly snug around her middle.  Behind her, the heat turns on and she shudders a bit, because it’s blowing just strongly enough to send a warm breeze across the crotchless part of her panties.  It feels like when Ben laughs against her cunt because she’s made a funny noise while he’s been eating her out.

Oh,  _ fuck _ , now she’s got a dopey smile on her face, too.  She can’t pull this off if she’s got a dopey smile on her face.  

She takes several steadying breaths.  

She’s going to fuck her boyfriend’s ass tonight, just like he’d wanted her to the first night they’d met, when he went by Kylo and she had wanted to kiss him for saying he’d take care of her.

She opens the door.  Sitting in a black plastic bag is a box with—

“Oh, you’re a very good boy,” she tells him gleefully.  The dildo has a flower pattern. And it sparkles.

“I thought you might like that,” he calls from the bedroom.  

Stepping on the tips of her toes, so he won’t hear her heels, she pushes open the door. 

He’s got a finger playing with his asshole, his other hand resting on the bed, and his cock is already half-hard as he kneels there, facing the back wall.  “Eyes front, soldier,” she tells him as she goes to her dresser and digs out the harness, stepping into it as carefully as she can in her heels and nearly falling over only twice.  She tightens the harness, fiddles with how it covers the straps of her girdle, and glances at herself in the mirror that’s hanging over the back of the closet door. 

“I like this dildo,” she tells him, and when she steps forward, she lets the heels click on the floor.  She sees him stiffen, sees him turn his head slightly before remembering that she told him to keep his eyes front.  “It matches. Did you know that it was going to match?” She clambers up onto the bed and kneels between his legs, bending forward to kiss his shoulder blades and letting her breasts brush against his back.  

“Rey,” he stammers.  “Are you—”

“I’ll let you look when you’ve come all over the bedspread,” she tells him.  “So you get to decide how quickly you come.”

He groans as she bends down and lightly nips at the curve of his ass.  She likes how springy his muscle is—even when it’s taught and tense like right now.

“Are you ready for me?” she asks him, and he jerks his head up and down.  She squirts more lube on his asshole and tests it. He takes two of her fingers easily, so she nudges the head of the dildo against him, pressing it halfway in before coating the sides of it with more lube and pushing further into him.

“Good boy,” she purrs against him, leaning forward to lick along his spine.  She gets to lick him now—lick him as much as she wants. She kisses and nips and she’s not afraid of what it will do to her heart.  Somehow, with Ben, she’s never afraid of anything. “Thank you for the present. I like it a lot.” She strokes his cock and Ben turns his head back to her and for a moment, she’s afraid he’s going to look at her and ignore the game, but his eyes are closed.  

“Thank you,” he grits out.  “Thank you.” 

He looks so blissful.  He always does when she’s got something in his ass.  It’s a different sort of orgasm, she knows. He’s tried explaining it to her, how it feels different when it’s coming from inside his ass rather than his dick and balls.  His favorite kind, though, is what she’s trying to do now, when she stimulates the head of his cock while fucking his ass with a strap on.  _ It feels like you’re taking care of me,  _ he’d confessed one night in the dark, his head pillowed between her breasts, her fingers running through his sweaty, soft hair.  

She grabs his hair as gently as she can, and tugs his head back so she can reach his lips.  She sucks on the lower one until there’s drool dripping down his lips before she releases him and pulls back to reach for his cock again.  It’s hot and thick in her hand, and she still has trouble gripping it the whole way around. He likes watching her try.

“Are your eyes still closed?” she asks him.

“Yes,” he pants.

“You can watch me jerk you off.”

And he drops his head and groans out, “Fuck, stockings.”  

“A preview,” Rey teases, smacking his ass lightly.  He bucks back against the dildo. “You like that?”

“Yes,” he says, so she does it again, leaning back and releasing his cock to get a better angle. 

“Oh, you’re going to be so pink,” she says.  “All rosy, like this dildo you got me. It’s such a good present.  Are you enjoying it the way I am?”  _ It looks sort of like roses are growing out of your ass, like I’m planting flowers in you,  _ she does not say.  She likes dirty talk, but that feels a little too weird and poetical and sentimental, so she contents herself with smacking him one last time before reaching down to stroke his cock again.  

He’s breathing hard, now, and starting to beg.  “Please.” She loves it that he says please, polite even in his neediness. “Please, Rey.”  

“Faster?” she asks him.

He jerks his head in a nod and she increases the pace of her hips.  The front of her thighs are smacking against the back of his, his cock is twitching in her hand, and before long he’s coming with a long groan, a cum streaming out of him and onto the bedspread beneath them.  He collapses forward, the dildo sliding easily out of him as he turns over to stare at Rey.

His mouth pops open, his eyes go wide and Rey cocks her head and smirks at him as she slowly goes to unhook the harness.

“I’m going to come again,” Ben tells her and she grins at him.  “Fuck, Rey. Fuck.”

“Better or worse than those dirty magazines?” she teases as the harness hits the floor.  She leans forward and climbs across his chest, straddling his thigh so he can feel how soaking wet she is.  

“Better,” he says.  “A million times better.  Please, next time let me watch you fuck me wearing that.”

Rey kisses him and snuggles against him, rubbing her slit along his leg.  He’ll get to her, she knows. He always does. And she does not doubt that it will be really fucking good when he gets it together enough to start. For now, he wraps his arms around her and cuddles her, kissing her along her hairline and nuzzling behind her ears.

“My parents want to meet you,” he says quietly after a few minutes.

“Yeah?” Rey asks quietly.  They rarely talk about family.  Rey hadn’t even known that Ben was talking to his again.

“Yeah,” he says.  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though.”

“I…” Rey pauses.  She does want to.  She thinks.  If only so she can shout at his uncle Luke and tell him he was a giant dumbass about Ben.  “Do you want me to?”

It somehow feels more intimate than any time she’s sucked on his balls, any time she’s sat on his face.  

“Yeah,” he says quietly.  “I do.”

“Ok, then,” she says, and she snuggles her face up closer to his to kiss him.

They kiss for a while.  Ben’s refractory period is annoyingly long, and he seems pretty determined to kiss her through all of it.  He teases her with his tongue in his mouth. And after a while his hands drip down to her breasts to thumb her through the sheer fabric of her fancy new bra, and then down again to her crotchless panties.

“These are so perfect,” he says as he starts to trace the outer circle of her vulva.  “I don’t have to push anything aside or anything.”

“I told you—I got you a present.”

“Do I get to play with my present now?” he asks her, nipping at her nose.

“Are you ready to play with your present?” she responds, grinding her hips up against his.  She thinks he might be starting to harden again.

In response, he rolls her off him and onto her back again.  He leans forward and kisses her lips, then bends his head further down and—with his teeth, brings the cup covering her left breast down so that her boob is popping up over the fabric.  

“I’m going to get something,” he tells her, then with a cheeky smile, “Good girls touch themselves while I’m gone.”

“And what do bad girls do?” Rey calls after him, appreciating the look of his still sort of pink ass retreating out of the bedroom.

“They touch their asses.”  Ben’s voice drifts in from somewhere else in the apartment, and Rey grins to herself as she slides two fingers inside her—oh god they’re so swollen—lips and draws some of her own fluid down to her ass.  She smiles to herself as she plays with it. The first time she’d fucked Ben, it had been on her back with his dick in her ass. So maybe she’s a little sentimental as she continues to bring her own slick down to her ass to lube it up as much as she can.  It wouldn't be enough to lube her up for his cock, but it is enough for her to slide a finger in, her knees bent and the heels she’s wearing flat on the bed.

Ben stops dead in his tracks when he comes back into the room.  His cock is definitely half-hard, and she watches as it rises a little more.  His eyes take in her pose, the high heels planted firmly against the mattress, before resting between her legs.  

“I had a feeling you were going to do that,” he tells her.

“I spend too much of my days being good,” she says.  “And I like you up my ass.”

He smiles.  “And I like being in your ass.”  He bends his head and licks right over her hole.  “And I love that you used yourself to lube up.”

“I could probably use some more lube,” Rey cautions him quickly, and he gives her a derisive snort.  

“Don’t worry.  I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

“I know you will,” she says, arching her back on the bed, one tit still out.  She cups it and plays with the nipple as she watches him down between her legs.  He has a toy in his hands, she realizes, and a moment later he’s sliding it into her and turning it on.  It buzzes quite delightfully. 

“Let me know how that feels.  I was going to put it in your ass, but you’ve been a bad girl.”

“I have,” Rey agrees, biting her lip.  The toy is wide, but not as wide as Ben.  She grips it as best she can, knowing that it will slide out of her if she doesn’t.   _ Oh, this is going to be good. _

Ben lubes her, stretches her, and it’s not long before he’s buried deep inside her, bending down to rub his face between her breasts, to suck on her freed tit while he rolls his hips against hers, grinding down against her ass.  

“I love the flowers,” he tells her.  “It really did match.”

“It did,” she agrees.  “You know how much I love flowers.”

“I do,” he replies with a sigh, and Rey surges upwards, her shoulders leaving the bed to kiss him.  His movements slow for just a moment as his tongue dips into her mouth, as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls his chest towards hers.

“I’m going to try something,” he tells her quietly.

“Oh yeah?  What is it?”

“I want to surprise you.  I think you’ll like it. Do you trust me?”

Rey considers for a moment.  “Well, you did nail it with that gift.”  He gives her a pleased, boyish smile, before he pulls back from her.  He brushes his fingers over her clit and a moment later he’s throwing his head back and losing himself to the feel of her ass and—she assumes—the mild vibrations he can feel through her pelvic floor from the vibrator.  Rey rests a hand on the base of the vibrator, pushing it in and out of her lightly before she, too, closes her eyes.

She loves this.  She loves feeling  _ full _ like this.  She can barely remember the time when she was afraid of how fucking huge Ben’s cock is.  Now, she can’t imagine ever fucking anything smaller. It’s strange, how empty and alone she’d felt, and how she hadn’t realized it until Ben was there.  Ben, caring for her without understanding how. Ben, fucking her in the ass even though he’d signed up to be pegged. Ben, and the way he sends tremors up and down his spine because it just feels so fucking good.  She hopes he buries himself in her and never leaves. She hopes that—

Suddenly, she feels cold and her eyes snap open.  Ben’s slid a fucking  _ ice cube _ into her ass and she squeaks in surprise and an implied  _ what the fuck _ before he lets out a groan and—

Oh—

Oh oh—

Oh oh oh—

It’s like he’s boiling in her now, the heat of his cum contrasting so sharply with the cold of the ice cube, and when he crashes forward, relishing his orgasm, the pressure he puts on the vibrator by lying on top of her, and the sticky hot-and-cold heat inside her have her gasping and clinging to him as a sharp orgasm rips through her body.

He pulls out of her, turns off the vibrator, and throws it to the ground by her strap on, and then clambers up onto the very messy bedspread, taking her hand.

“Was that ok?”

“It was weird.  You stuck an ice cube in my ass.”  She pauses, considering. “But yeah—I liked that.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”  He kisses her neck, before dropping his hand down to cup her still exposed tit.  “And you’ll be wearing these a lot.”

“When I meet your parents.”

“Oh god not then.”

“Definitely then.”


	23. Balancing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Exes, Yoga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is diasterisms’ fault. For a number of reasons, most of which were, when I was going to Yoga, she told me to think about Yoga Porn for this project. So here we are.

Rey is getting her mat set up when she sees him out of the corner of her eye and freezes.

She doesn’t have to do a double take.  She doesn’t have to blink and make sure she’s not imagining it.  Of course she doesn’t. She knows his gait too well for that.

At the front of the room, Maz is stretching out on her mat and looking around from behind her big bottle cap glasses.  “Oh hello,” she says smiling over at him. “Long time no see. Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” she hears him say.  

“There’s a spot behind Rey,” Maz says pointing.  It’s a large class today. The weather, Rey assumes.  Yoga classes are usually fuller on rainy days, when people in need of a break from work stay inside rather than venturing out of doors for a walk and a stretch of the legs.  

“Thanks,” he says again, and it’s like an electric current is running through her body right now.

_ No _ , is all she can think.   _ No, please—somewhere else.  Anywhere else. _

Because she hasn’t seen or spoken to him since she closed the door in his face, since she’d ended it.

And now he’s taking up the spot behind her in her yoga class.

She hears him unroll his mat, hears him settle on it cross-legged, and Rey chances a glance out of the corner of her eye to the studio’s mirror.

He’s maybe six feet behind her now.  His hair is longer than the last time she’d seen it and he’s got it tied into a topknot, just like she does for Yoga.  It looks more than a little ridiculous, but at the same time—at the same time—

_ Please, no,  _ she thinks.  Her fingers tense and untense, the memory of what it feels like to run them through his long, soft hair overpowering her for a moment.

“Heart center, everyone,” Maz commands, and Rey pulls her mind away from Ben sitting behind her—closer than he has been since they’d broken up.  She settles her palms against one another, right above her sternum. “Deep breath in through your nose—out through your mouth. Thank you all for coming today.  Thank you all for making time for yoga—time for yourselves today. As you take your next breath in, I want you to set an intention for today’s class. What brought you here?  What do you want to come out of here feeling?”

_ I want not to think too much about Ben,  _ Rey tells her heart.   _ I want to feel light.   _ That’s what she likes about Yoga—the lightness.  No matter how anxious she feels when she arrives, she always feels calmer leaving.  And Ben—Ben can be a pit of despair sometimes. He can be—he can be a lot. He can be too much.

_ And he’s a fucking fascist,  _ she reminds herself stubbornly, angrily.  Angry, because it still hurts. How can anyone hold his political ideals and still be the gentlest person she’s ever met, the person who’s cared most about her out of anyone in this world, the person—

No.  No, she’s not going to think about him.  She’s not. It doesn’t matter how quiet the room is as everyone breathes their intentions.  It doesn’t matter at all. Today isn’t about that. Today is about her. Her and lightness.

“And let’s begin.”  Maz clicks the remote and some light music turns on, gentle, soothing.  “Everyone up,” and they stand. Stand, and fold forward, and half-lift, and forward again.  Plank, chataranga, upward facing dog, downward facing dog and—

Ben is right behind her and she’s staring at him, right between her legs, and her heart lurches in her chest.  Ben between her legs is not an unnatural view at all. Not unnatural. He’s wearing a dark tank top, and she can see the way his muscles are holding him up.

“And bring your feet to the top of your mat and lift yourself up into mountain,” and Rey does, sweeping her arms up over her head, breathing harder than she wants to be.  It’s yoga. If it’s making her heart rate go up this much, this soon— _ keep your intentions.   _

She sees him every time she lands in downward facing dog, his head dropping, his long torso stretching up, up, up towards his buttocks, towards the ceiling.  She can remember the way each of his muscles feels under her hands. She can remember the way—when he starts to sweat, the way it tastes against her tongue.

The only comfort she can possibly take from this is that every time Ben looks forward, he’ll see her ass.  If it’s torture for her to see his back and all its muscles, he’ll have that ass he loved right in his face every time he half-rises, or looks forward at all.  

Rey’s fairly new to Maz’s class.  She and Ben had come exactly once together before breaking up.  Ben was hoping to get into yoga. He’d done it for years and then stopped for reasons he couldn’t remember.  He was trying to get control over himself again, and someone had told him yoga helped. 

It hadn’t helped enough.  And he was a fascist.

But Rey had kept going.  She didn’t need control. She had too much control, really.  She needed to feel light. And something about yoga made her feel like she was floating in her own body when she was done.  The only other thing that had ever made her feel that way was—

—Ben, behind her, his hands on her hips, drilling into her, groaning and massaging her ass because he couldn’t get enough of it.  He loved her from behind like this. He liked kissing his way along the freckles on her back. He liked licking her asshole, he liked burying his face in her neck while he tugged her hips towards his, pushing deeper and deeper.   _ I feel whole when I’m with you,  _ he had told her once.   _ I feel in control with you.  I feel like a real person and not just a giant fuck up when I’m with you. _

And how his words inflated her, made her feel like she was made of sunshine and gentle summer breezes.  To be wanted like that, to be cherished like that, to feel the way her heart would explode in her chest as he thrust into her again and again, her skin slick with sweat and need, and she would never as long as she lived, not  _ ever _ forget what it was like to feel like this.

She takes a deep, steadying breath.  Her heart is in her throat as she squats in her chair pose, arms over her head.  In through the nose, out through the mouth, clearing all the air from her body the way only yoga and Ben can.  

Warrior one, stargazer, warrior two, warrior three, smooth flow between positions.  She lets her body do the work. She lets her body fall into sync with her heart. She has done this so much that she doesn’t even need to listen to Maz at the front of the room.  She can close her eyes and do this and never catch a glimpse of him between her legs when she’s back to downward facing dog. 

Except, it feels like every position Maz puts them in reminds her of Ben.  Ben, behind her, filling her up, Ben beneath her and her rocking up and down along the length of his dick.  Ben, when she’s bent down in a frog position, her legs spread wider than the mat and knowing that if he looked up, he’d see an all too familiar sight of her on all fours, her ass in the air, and her head dropped down as she relishes the stretch of him, of her hips, of her lungs as air passes through them, somehow fresher than usual because she’s working to make herself stronger doing this.  Bridge, and her hips lifted in the air and the memory of Ben holding her up because if he’s standing and she’s lying on the bed, their hips don’t line up unless she lifts them like this, but now her legs were trembling because he was taking his sweet, sweet time. Squatting down again, her hands over her heart, her elbows pressing into her knees, her groin only inches from the ground and this—she’d squatted in just this way when riding him once.  She’d wanted to see if she’d get better momentum. She hadn’t. He’d laughed at her, and rolled them both over and she’d ended up with her ankles on his shoulders—forward fold, oh god, now she’ll think of that now too—and she’d come for a full minute by the time he was done with her.

And because she’s got no self control, because she’s failed in her intentions for the class, she checks the mirror.  Behind her, Ben is in full crow position, leaning forward. Sweat is dripping off his face, his hair is dark and damp and coming loose from its topknot.  And when Maz has them change positions, rather than dropping backwards like the other members of the class who are doing full crow, he swings his legs up into a sort of handstand that he lowers himself from slowly.  

Rey’s mouth is dry as she stares at him in the mirror.

She remembers how strong he is, remembers how he could fuck her against a wall, could fuck her standing up, could hold her completely in his arms and make her feel like she’d never touch the ground ever again.  

He lands in his plank and begins to chataranga and Rey realizes she’s still squatting and staring at him when he looks up and, in the mirror, locks eyes with her.

It’s like all the air leaves the room.  His face goes red. Her heart stops. She fumbles her way towards an upward facing dog, but it’s too late.  Something is different now.

_ He’s a fascist,  _ she reminds herself again.   _ He’s a fascist.  He’s a fascist. _

But her heart is racing and  _ god _ she thinks she can feel some moisture between her legs, and she misses him, misses the way he feels in her arms, against her lips, as deep inside her as he’ll go.

By the time that Maz has them lying down in corpse pose, breathing deeply as they let themselves feel their way into the ground, Rey feels lost.  Yoga has never made her feel lost before. Lightheaded, happy, free, yes, but never lost. Even when Maz waves a towel soaked with lavender oil over them to relax them more, she doesn’t feel soothed.

A few feet away from her, Ben is getting to his feet, rolling up his yoga mat and leaving the studio.

It feels more like a punch to the gut than it should, really.

At the end of the class, she gets to her feet slowly, dazedly.  She’s definitely wetter than she wants to be, she can feel it as she walks out of the studio and heads to the locker room to change.  She doesn’t shower. She doesn’t sweat enough in yoga to merit it—it feels like a waste of water. Instead, she heads straight to the elevator, and when it dings she gets in and presses the button to take her down four floors to her office.

It’s as the door is closing that she sees him round the corner, and she honestly doesn’t know if it’s instinct, if she’s dazed, or if she suddenly feels so horribly sad that she’d closed the door in his face like that, but something makes her stick out her hand to send the elevator doors open again.

He stops dead in front of her.  His hair is wet from a quick shower, and he’s wearing—a t-shirt?  On a weekday?

Slowly, he steps towards the elevator and presses the button for the first floor.

Rey examines her finger nails.  She feels like she should say something.  She feels like she should do something. But she doesn’t know what.

_ He’s a fascist,  _ she reminds herself.  But even to her own mind, the protest is weak this time.  Because she’s remembering the soft look of adoration in his face as he’d watch her come, the floppy way he’d play with her hair while splayed over his chest, spent and so very happy, her heart lighter than she’d ever felt before.

The elevator dings. 

She makes to get out on the sixth floor.

“Rey?”

His hand is extended, blocking the doors from closing again.

“Yeah?”

“I quit,” he says and his voice sounds—

It’s as though empty can sound hopeful too, as though terrified can also sound brave.  And his eyes—oh, his eyes are so determined, so bright.

“Oh.”  Because she can’t think of what else to say.

“Yeah.”

“I—that’s—that’s good.”

He nods.  

Slowly, he draws his hand back from the elevator doors, and she watches as they close, watches as they take him away from her again.

 

-

 

It’s like something from a movie, the way she remembers it.  Maybe it’s the post-yoga glow, the way it feels like she’s seeing it all, doing it all from outside her own body.  The way she runs for the fire exit and ignores the plaintive plasticy alarm that rings for as long as the door is open as she sprints down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time.  She’d leap whole floors except she’s sore from yoga.

She’s sprinting hard, and fast, and she hates cardio, it’s why she does yoga, but she’s running, hurrying down the stairs.  Her phone is in her hand as she does it, feverishly texting Rose.  _ I was feeling bad during Yoga so I’m gonna go home sick. _

Because if she doesn’t find him, she’ll feel too terrible to work, she already knows that.

She sprints through the lobby, panting and tired, runs out onto the street and looks around.

He’s a head and shoulder taller than everyone else, and he’s at the corner, waiting for the light to change, his yoga mat sticking out of a bag she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying.

“Ben!” she yells as loudly as she can, and it’s like everyone on the street freezes and turns to look at her, because who screams like that in the middle of the day?

Ben turns too, and did the sky mean to do that, stop raining so that everything seems to glisten and glow around him as he turns to look at her?  

She’s running for him, and he’s moving towards her too—running? Walking? She doesn’t know.  The world is moving at a strange pace right now. She launches herself at him, and a moment later, his tongue is in her mouth and his arms are around her waist, pulling her so close, so very close.  

When they break apart, the world is moving normally again.  People are walking around them, giving them judgemental looks, and one car rounds the corner too quickly and splashes some of the rainwater onto the sidewalk right next to them.  

Ben’s eyes are bright, and Rey rests her hands on his chest and because she can’t think of what to say next, she kisses him again, more softly this time, more gently, less desperately. 

_ Please, let’s do this again,  _ she hopes her lips are saying.

_ I want nothing more in the world,  _ she thinks his lips reply.

“Don’t you have to get back to work?” he asks her quietly when they break apart again.

She shakes her head.  “No—I—sick day. Where are you—?”

He’s kissing her again, his hands in her hair one second, cupping her face the next.  

She never really gets an answer to that question.  But that’s completely ok by her.

 

-

 

He’s inside her almost the moment that they’re in his apartment.  It’s a bit messier than the last time Rey was there, and it’s a lot brighter because she’d rarely been there during the day.  But off come her pants and underpants and then there’s Ben picking her up and just sliding home.

He carries her—connected to him at the waist—into his bedroom and then lies her gently down on the bed, tugging her shirt up over her head as he does so and bending down to suck on her chest.  

He keeps halfheartedly trying to speak and then giving up and going back to suck on her neck and Rey doesn’t care.  She doesn’t know what to say either. She’s yoga-glowy and she’s pretty sure that if she tries to put words to her feelings right now she’ll ruin something.  She’ll make this not be happening. 

Maybe that’s why he’s not saying anything either.  Maybe that’s why he’s trembling in her arms, and breathing and shaking like he’s trying not to cry.  Maybe that’s why he pauses in moving his hips just to hold her for a moment. 

Or maybe it’s not, because he whispers, “God, I couldn’t stop staring at your ass the entire time.”

She lets out a startled laugh and rolls him over onto his back.  “All I could think about was how the sight of you between my legs was… well, I missed it, in downward dog.”

He sits up under her, his lips under her chin, his hands at her breasts, thumbing at her nipples, rolling them until they are stiff, until they are aching.  She wraps her arms around his neck and runs her fingers through his hair and—

“You need a haircut.”

“You don’t like it long?”

“Not long enough for a man bun, Ben.”

He laughs into her lips again and his hips buck up into hers, sending the happiest of waves through her.  He’s here. He’s here, and she’s here, and he quit his job, maybe he was just confused about fascism, maybe that wasn’t who he was, wasn’t who he wanted to be, and sure, maybe she’s making excuses because she’s in love with him, but also maybe she’s in love with him and that means she understands him better than everyone who writes him off when they learn about him.  Maybe she loves that he’s changing, can encourage it, because he’s been so miserable for so long.

She’s trying very hard to rock her hips against his, to pull him in deeper, and deeper, but hers are tired from yoga, and she’s moving more slowly than she’d like.  

“Ben,” she moans, her hands still in his hair.

It’s like he knows—on second thought, he probably does—because a moment later he is rolling her into her side and kissing her so deeply that she might have gagged if she hadn’t learned to relax her gag reflex for him last year.  

It’s that thought that makes her do something she would never have otherwise considered.  

She kisses her way down his chest until she is slowly bending her hips away from his until a perplexed “Rey,” falls from his lips because she is sliding off him, pulling away from him to keep kissing her way down his belly, nuzzling her nose in that line of dark hair between his belly button and his cock and, yes, yes she remembers this, the smell of his sweat and arousal mixed with her own.  

She licks a stripe down his cock, loving the weight of it in her tongue, the way his hands feel as they tighten in her hair, the thrumming of his pulse through the veins under the velvet-soft, paper-thin skin.  She swirls her tongue over the top of him, tangy with his precum, musky from what she had coated him with, before sucking him down, hollowing her cheeks out so that the soft insides of them are as close to him as they can be. 

He lets out a guttural cry when he hits the back of her throat, and another one when she twists—lightly—on his cock.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he moans.  “God, Rey, I’ve—I—”

It sounds a little like he’s crying, and she looks up at him.  His eyes are bright, to be sure, but there are no signs of tears on his lovely, long face.  No—he’s just looking at her like she’s the moon, like she’s the ocean on a clear day, like she’s his.

She keeps going until her jaw is sore, until the hair at his base is positively sopping from her drool, until he’s twitching in her mouth.  Only then does he pull his hips sharply back from her lips and grab her under the arms and guide her up the bed so he can kiss her again. She can feel how fast his heart is beating in his lips, in the fervor of his kisses, in the erratic way he’s breathing as he reaches down between them and slips two fingers into her, pumping them a few times, before withdrawing and filling her again with his cock.

“I’ve missed you,” she moans into his neck as he rolls her onto her back.  “I’ve hated it. I’ve hated not having you, I’ve—”

She’s rolling her hips against his and he’s tugging her knees up on either side of his hips as he pumps into her with an intensity that she knows will soon have her reduced to a shuddering mess.  And if his hands weren’t continuing to push her knees against the bed, she’d be wrapping them around his waist, clinging to him as he drives them both over the edge.

His hands start straightening her legs, unbending her knees, making their way up her calves to her ankles.  He rests first one ankle, and then the other on each of his shoulders before propping himself more solidly up on his forearms, and Rey loses herself in him, in the strength of him because god knows she doesn’t think she could plank and fuck at the same time after that yoga class, but Ben can.  Ben can, and she’s here with him, and he quit his job and he’s filling her with everything right now—hope, joy, pleasure, love…

She’s missed coming around his cock.  She’s missed the way her cunt grabs onto him as it rolls its way through waves of pleasure.  She’s missed being able to cling to him, warm and sturdy in her arms, and the way he tells her he loves her, the way he calls her sweetheart, the way she feels like she’ll never be empty again.  No wonder she feels light as she comes down from it. No wonder she feels her face relax into a smile for the first time in ages. She kisses her way across his face as he keeps going, as his hips stutter and he fills her with another sensation she’s missed, the tingling feeling of his cum streaming into her as he moans her name into her neck.

Slowly, she pops her legs off his shoulders, and wraps them around his hips.  He doesn’t roll off her, but she doesn’t care. He knows how much she likes that, being pressed into the bed underneath him, the weight of him making her feel safe and wanted.

“Stay?” he asks her almost shyly.

“You could just stay on top of me and I’d be forced to,” she teases, nuzzling into her neck as she does.  

“My plan in action, then,” he grins.  Then he groans. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

“Was that more than you usually do?” she asks him.

“I’m a little out of shape.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to tell, after all those handstands and whatnot earlier.”

He grins, and Rey lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“I guess we’ll just have to work on getting you back into shape, won’t we?” And she kisses him with a smile on her lips.


	24. Waking Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant/divergent - Established Relationship, Somnophilia, Dubious Consent that turns into enthusiastic consent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I would put this trope (somnophilia) fundamentally in the “dubious on consent” category. I can say that the situation is unwelcome to neither participant, indeed both are into it, and they communicate about the situation at the end of the smut, rather than before. But I understand if the trope makes you want to skip over this one and wanted to give people fair warning about that!

Ben wakes when Rey’s hand closes around his cock and starts pumping it.  

It takes him a moment to realize what is happening.  Everything is still fuzzy from sleep—his gaze, his mouth, his mind.  He had been dreaming about her, and the dream had been enough to get him hard. There is a distinct texture change to this reality—from the bright way her tits had been bouncing as she ran through a field of flowers, to the darkness of their shared cabin.

He smiles, and turns towards her expecting to see a devious grin. It would not be the first time she has woken him like this.  She takes particular pleasure in jerking him into wakefulness, determined that whatever dream got him hard can become his reality, if he wants.  He loves her for that—that, and many other things. 

But she isn’t looking at him. Her head is tilted away from him, and he smiles at the way she is exposing her long neck to him.  He leans forward to suck on it, relishing the lazy, sleepy pulse under his lips. “Morning.” His voice is gravely, and he has no idea if it even is morning. The windows are blocked off to prevent any external light from seeping in and disturbing their rest, but it’s all relative anyway.  Rey has awakened him, so it is morning.

But she doesn’t reply.  She sighs, and shifts, and he frowns because something is strange.  Her grip on his cock is a little tighter than usual, and her movement a little less smooth.  It’s like she is pretending to still be asleep. Well, if that’s her game he can play along for sure. He tugs her close so that her back is pressed against his chest and cups one of her breasts through her shirt, rolling the the already pointed nipple. She hums happily and squeezes him, and a spark of pleasure shoots up him.

“Is it a good dream?” he asks her, tugging gently at her nipples.  “Mine was a good dream. You look so beautiful in dappled sunshine, Rey.  The way you flush, the way you smile.” He traces his hand down her stomach and finds the hem of her shirt. For a moment he he pauses, hovering. 

“Up or down, sweetheart?” he smiles into her ear.

The response is unexpected.  She lets out a snuffling snore and wiggles around, burying herself against his chest, smacking her lips a little bit.

_ She isn’t...is she? _

“Are you really asleep?” His hand circles the lower part of her belly.  “Or are you just the best actor in the world?”

She doesn’t reply though, and slowly, trying not to disturb her—despite the knowledge that there is no way this would wake her when his fondling hadn’t—he shifts to accommodate her new position.

She is still pumping his cock.  It feels nice. Weird, now that he knows she is asleep.  But still, nice. She always feels nice.

Then she starts moaning.  “Mmm, that feels good,” she breathes against his chest and starts kissing it.  “Please.” Then, a long sigh, and another moan of “Ben.”

_ I am glad at least I’m doing a good job,  _ he thinks wryly.  He strokes her arm and closes his eyes.  At least he can enjoy the way she is still jerking him off, the way she is thumbing his tip in her sleep.  Even the fumbling way she cups his balls doesn’t feel too bad. If anything, it sort of reminds him of the first time they had touched one another, both completely ignorant of the way the other’s body worked, both refusing to let that stop them.   _ And look how far we’ve come. _

She is fucking him in her dreams and jerking him off in her sleep.  And he’s leaking precum, the way he always does whenever she touches him.

He’d take that any day.  He had thought he was made for misery and loneliness—he’ll take Rey’s love, however she’ll give it to him, whenever she’ll give it to him.   _ You know I can take what I want,  _ he’d once told her, not ever dreaming that the reverse would be true and that he’d welcome it.

Her lips leave his chest and suck their way up to his neck, to his chin, fumbling to his lips.  “Fuck me,” she breathes into his mouth.

“Are you awake?” he asks her.

“Ben please, please please please.”

Her hips are moving closer to his and he can feel her trying to pull his cock inside her through her sleeping pants.  

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs as he tries to pull himself out of her hands.  This is getting ridiculous. She starts to whine. He hates making her whine—making her beg, which she starts doing next.

“Ben, I’m dying here.  Please. Please, please, please please please.”

She’s trembling in his arms, and for a moment he thinks it’s because she might cry.  But then she lets out a moan and starts rubbing her entire body against his and he knows it’s because she’s close to coming.

She has come in her sleep before.  She’d told him about it the next morning, with a flush, as though embarrassed that her imagination alone could stimulate her body into a rushing relief so strong it woke her up.  But she’s never come in her sleep while begging him—aloud—to fuck her.

“I am going to regret this,” he mutters more to himself than to Rey as he tugs her pants down her legs and— _ fuck fuck fuck she is so wet _ —presses himself into her.

 

-

 

It’s a dream.  A good dream, but a dream.

Ben does not have a twelve-pack.  He has a very good set of muscles—a set of muscles that she truly and deeply appreciates with every fiber of her being.  But he does not have a twelve-pack. And yet, when he turns to face her, covered in sweat on that cliff side, his pants are slung low over his hips and there are twelve abdominal muscles in neat little packs on his stomach.

It was night only moments before.  A rainy night, and she had humiliated herself and she really doesn’t want to do this right now.  Except his sweat is gleaming so brilliantly that it turns the sky bright, and the sound of the sea fades.

“It’s ok,” he says to her, holding out a hand.  “I know how you feel.”

“I—”  _ Rey _ doesn’t even know how she feels. How could  _ Ben? _  Ben, with softer brown eyes than she was expecting, looking so very hungry as he stares at her.

That’s when she realizes she is naked.  He is staring at her—ok yes she is dreaming, definitely dreaming because she doesn’t have a ten-pack.  Ben loves her abs. He has spent more time than is really necessary kissing them. She has a six-pack, not a ten-pack.  Her pubic hair is also much less of a wiry mess than usual. It’s soft and smooth and curiously, she drops a hand to it. 

It feels like Ben’s hair.  

Ben’s hair between her legs is nothing strange.  She’s used to it. But usually it’s attached to his head—usually he is lovingly licking her, and not staring at the muscles on her stomach like he is looking at the stars for the first time. 

The distance between them evaporates and Rey grabs his cock.  It’s thick and throbbing and soft in her hands. She squeezes it and he presses his lips to the side of her head.  “I know how to make you feel,” he breathes into her neck before kissing her there. She sighs, and lets her head fall to the side to give him better access as she slides her—yes, her hands are magically lubed.  This is the best dream. Ben’s already hard, and bucking into her hand, and his cock is already starting to drip precum, just the way she likes it. She likes making his cock seep. She doesn’t know if all cocks leak as much as Ben’s does.  She doesn’t need to know the answer to that. But he can practically self-lubricate when she’s got her hands or mouth on him. Something that only seems to matter a little bit to this dream, given that her hands are already lubricated.

“You feel so good,” he whispers to her.  “Do you know what you do to me? Do you know what you’ve done to me?”

Somehow they’re lying on the grass now, and he’s hovering over her, rubbing his nose along her collarbones, his breath tickling at her skin.  She keeps tugging at his cock the way she knows he likes it, her thumb brushing over the tip to spread around some of his precum and to make tingles flood his body.  

“You look so beautiful in dappled sunshine, Rey.  The way you flush, the way you smile.”

She hums happily and smiles and he kisses his way across her stomach, licking at each of the ridges between her ten-pack.  His hand is on her breast now, twisting at her nipple, and she feels herself starting to leak. If this weren’t a dream, he’d be too far down her stomach now for her to still be pumping his cock, but dreams are much more accommodating than reality on that front, and so she doesn’t have to let go while he licks. 

“Up or down, sweetheart?” he asks her.

“Down,” she replies.  “Always down.”

Because Ben’s tongue is magical, and because she doesn’t have to let go of his cock as he sinks down further in the grass to lick at her slit.  She loves the grass. It tickles at her skin, teasing at her ass, at her lips, at the sides of her arms. It is so very alive and she loves being reminded that the world is green.   _ You look so beautiful in dappled sunlight.   _ She opens her eyes.  The sky is blue overhead, and the grass around her is so green and unlike the empty waste that was Jakku, and Ben’s head is between her legs again, his hair right where it usually is.  

With her other hand, she cards through it and he groans.  She hums. “That feels good.” He pauses in licking her and looks up at her, and she sees such lust in his eyes.

Lust, and also—

“Please,” she begs him, because she knows what’s about to happen.  He’s about to tease the fuck out of her. “Ben.”

His tongue is moving so slowly now that it’s almost painful.  Anticipation curls in her stomach, and she can practically feel her clit swelling towards his lips, hungering for more than he’s giving her.  She takes a slow, steadying breath.  _ He will,  _ she thinks.   _ I know he will.   _ He always gives it to her.  And he has a twelve-pack, now, which means he can probably give it to her harder than he has before.  Unhelpfully, her cunt clenches around nothing. 

_ I can be good,  _ she thinks.   _ I can let him have his fun. _

Because he likes teasing her.  The longer he teases her, the harder he comes, and he’s told her how many times, that he wants to give her as much pleasure as he can, to wash away that constant fear that she doesn’t deserve love by giving her almost more than can bear.  Almost. Almost, because if there’s one thing that’s true about Ben it’s that he loves her exactly as much as she can bear.

Even when he’s teasing her, even when his touch is so light on her cunt that she can barely feel it and oh, how she wants to feel it.  

“Fuck me,” she begs him when it becomes too much.  “Please, Ben. Please please please.”

“Sweetheart?”

He licks a long stripe along her cunt and she tugs his cock towards her.  It’s so long in this dream, almost as long as his arm—is it as thick as his arm, too?  

She wishes almost immediately she hadn’t thought about that, because now she’s imagining the  _ stretch _ of him and his arm-sized cock.  She needs it, needs him. 

“Ben, I’m dying here.  Please. Please, please, please please please.”

She’s whining now.  It’s like her body is on fire with need, and only Ben can quench it.  Either with his tongue, or with his cock—she doesn’t care. She just wants him.  She’s close and yet not close. She wants to lie in the sunshine and let him fuck her forever against the green grass with his massive cock and—

“Yesss,” she sighs as she feels him press into her.  “Yes, oh—oh—”

And her eyes open and suddenly it’s dark.  No sunlight, no grass, no blue sky overhead.  She’s in her bed, in the cabin she shares with Ben and Ben’s got his lips at her throat and he’s sliding in and out of her and—

And it feels divine.  

Ben always feels divine, even when her dreams aren’t bending his body out of proportion.  His cock isn’t arm-sized, it’s Ben-sized and it fits her perfectly. Had he known? Had he—

“Ben?”

He freezes and pulls back from her.  She sees guilt flash across his face, sees fear, sees shame.  

She lifts her head up and kisses him.  “Keep going,” she tells his lips and she wraps her legs around him.  “Fuck you’d better keep going, after that dream.”

She can feel him sag with relief and a moment later he’s riding her so hard that it’s only a matter of time before she shatters.  He’s moaning her name, and cupping her face, and kissing her, and telling her how much he loves her, how much he will always love her, and Rey’s heart is singing as she rolls him onto his back and with a few quick jerks of the hips, a few precise movements of her fingers against her clit, she’s rolling forward and coming, her mouth open against his chest, as heat like that sunny, seaside cliff fills her.

She takes a moment to breathe.

“Rey,” he begins, but he’s still hard inside her and she presses her hands to his shoulders and begins rocking her hips, riding him as hard as he’d ridden her, her tits bouncing on her chest, and she knows how much he loves the view of that—her fucking him so hard that her tits are jiggling with the effort—and it’s not long before he’s coming with a garbled cry.

She lets herself lie forward on his chest, tucking her head under his chin.  “How did you know about the dream?” she asks him. Because she thinks that’s why he was inside her when she woke.  It has to be that. If it was anything else—but no, he wouldn’t. Not if it was anything else. He was trying to—to make her feel good.  Because he knew about the dream.

And he laughs.  “Because you were trying to get me to fuck you in your sleep.”

She blinks.  “Because I—”

“You grabbed my dick in your sleep and started jerking me off.  I thought you were awake at first, because that would hardly be the first time that happened.”

No.  No it wouldn’t be.  

She grins into his chest and kisses it.

“Did I—did I say anything?”

“You were begging me to fuck you by the end,” he says slowly.  She looks up at him. His eyes are soft, and still nervous. 

“I’m glad you did,” she says slowly.  “It was...it was a nice way to wake up.”

He exhales slowly.  She hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.  

“You’d have stopped, right?  If I—” but she cuts herself off because he looks insulted at the question. 

“I would have stopped,” he tells her seriously.  “And I would have let you kick the crap out of me for my own bad decisions.”   _ A more than justifiable punishment,  _ he doesn’t say aloud, but his words imply it.  She shudders. She hates the thought of Ben punished.  That was for Snoke, or Luke. Not for her.

“Well then…” she says slowly, and she kisses his chin, before repeating,  “It was a nice way to wake.” Then, before her nerve fades, she whispers, “I’d like to try it again sometime.  If the situation ever arises again. Because I know you’ll stop if I—because I—I trust you.”

And his face melts into a smile, and she wiggles her way up his body to kiss him.  By the time they’re done kissing, he’s hard again.


	25. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliant/divergent - Sexual Asphyxiation, Auto-erotic asphyxiation, Masturbation

It got a lot easier with Rey.

 

-

 

_ He doesn’t want to think that it’s because of Vader.   _

_ Vader needed help breathing.  Vader required a ventilator to live.  Vader, in his dark helmet—the one that had burned when Uncle Luke had cremated a monster born of fire.    _

_ What was it like—not being able to breathe? _

_ Which is how Kylo Ren first tried choking himself.   _

_ He used the force—Vader’s chosen mechanism—until his face was nearly purple. _

_ But as he’s gasping for air, the cool oxygen getting pumped into his suite of rooms, into his lungs, keeping him blessedly alive, his cock is hard in his pants. _

_ Harder than it’s been in years. _

_ Strange. _

_ Very strange. _

__

_ - _

 

“I don’t want to,” Rey had protested the first time he’d mentioned it to her.  “Ben, I don’t want to hurt you, or come close to it.”

“But I  _ lik _ e _ —” _

“Are you sure?  It’s not—”

“Snoke never choked me to try and punish me,” he tells her firmly.  “I only ever choked myself to try and get myself off. It was only ever for pleasure.”

He can see the way that Rey’s mind is moving, trying so very hard to process how someone losing access to oxygen would be arousing.  

Ben doesn’t understand either, but he stopped trying to ages ago.

 

-

 

_ His cock is thick and hot in his hand when he cuts the oxygen off this time, thick and hot and bobbing and his lungs are laboring at nothing at all inside his chest, his heart is rioting, but the only thing he can feel is just how good his hand feels wrapped around himself, just how smooth his skin is, how alive he is. _

_ He loses consciousness, and comes to several minutes later, white spunk splattered all over his dark robes, a sharp contrast. _

_ Maybe if the light had been half as appealing as this, he’d never have been seduced by the dark. _

 

_ - _

 

Rey doesn’t use the Force.  She wraps her hands—her beautiful hands, the hands that had reached for him, the hands that had wrapped around his lightsaber, the hands that had summoned Vader’s lightsaber—around his throat and presses her thumbs against his windpipe. 

“I’m still—” he tells her because air is making its way in, and Rey releases his throat.  He tries not to look disappointed.

“Let me ease into it,” she says.

Ease into it.

The way he had eased into her that first time, terrified that he’d push too hard and then she’d be gone.

He supposes it’s probably a little more stressful for her since she might accidentally kill him.

But he trusts her.

More than he trusts himself.

 

-

 

_ It’s a fine art—figuring out just when to cut off his air passage so he can experience the rush of his orgasm without losing consciousness.  Waking up to his cum all over him had been an experience, but he’s not a fool and there is a real fear that losing consciousness will not lift the pressure of the Force from his throat and lungs. _

_ He supposes there are probably more embarrassing ways to die than being found covered in your own cum, choked by your own hand, but he’d prefer to avoid that particular death.   _

_ He prefers living through his little death, feeling that rush of  _ life _ mixed in with his body’s panic that he might, in fact, die. _

_ He likes the feeling of starting to breathe again right as the orgasm begins, of feeling air so cold that it’s hot filling his lungs right as his every nerve is rioting in pleasure.  He likes feeling more alive than he’s ever felt in his life as he comes apart in his own fist. _

 

-

 

She is beautiful, his Rey, and there is nothing in the world quite like drinking her in, the way she sits up as she straddles his hips, the way her body is flushed and sweaty from activity.  He is buried in her to the hilt, and he marvels at the way the hair above their groins mingles together as she sits up a little straighter, as she looks down at him nervously.

“It’s ok,” he tells her.  

She rolls her eyes.  “Easy for you to say.”

“Yes, easy for me to say.  I’ve done this before.”  _ Please, Rey.  Please.  _ He wants to feel her hands around his throat.  He wants to feel his life in her hands again. He wants to feel what it’s like to feel as alive as he can while she’s warm and soft around him.  He wants to feel as alive as he can while staring into her eyes, and knowing that she wants him.

She takes a deep breath and leans forward slightly, resting her thumbs over his windpipe again.

This time, he cannot breathe at all.

And oh, the delight of watching her eyes as she stares at his face, determined not to let him die—the joy of the way he twitches his hips underneath her, to remind her what they’d agreed to and she starts to move and—

So warm, and wet, and he can hear his heart rioting in the pounding blood in his ears.

Rey has always been better than his hand, Rey has always been the only thing that matters.

His vision starts to blur, his chest labors, empty, his heart rattles against his ribs and his cock is twitching against the softest walls, the sweetest grip, the warmest love…

 

-

 

_ His imagination is doing things to him and he doesn’t appreciate it. _

_ Imagination is unhelpful—counterproductive. _

_ And thinking about the scavenger using the Force to choke him the way that Vader choked his enemies, loathing in her eyes but also that confusion he’d seen there when he’d first taken off his mask… _

_ He’s stiffer than the hilt of his lightsaber when he cuts the air off, and is it his oxygen-deprived mind or is it something else that turns that confusion in her eyes into something deeper, something softer, like he wasn’t the monster she was expecting as he brings himself off. _

 

-

 

“Ben?  Ben—” She sounds frightened.  She sounds afraid. It wouldn’t be the first time that she brought him back from death.

“Rey?” he rasps.

“Thank god,” and she bursts into tears.

His cock is limp now, and she’s pressed against his chest and he lifts his arms to wrap them around her.

“I’m here,” he tells her.

“I thought I’d—I don’t know.  There was a pulse and you were breathing…”

She nuzzles into his neck and he pulls her closer.  

“I’m all right,” he says.  “More than all right.” His whole body is tingling, yet relaxed.  “But next time—”

“Next time,” Rey snorts, “Next time, after I knock you out while—”  She stops, though, at the look on his face. “I don’t get it,” she says.  “I just don’t—and I don’t want to try and find out either. I just don’t get it.”

They stare at one another for a long moment, and Ben’s glad that his whole body is light because it makes it hard to be concerned.  

Rey sighs.  “I don’t get it, but if you like it and as long as I don’t kill you.”  She brushes her lips against his. “Next time…” she prompts him.

“Next time, let me go before I come so I can feel what it’s like coming inside you right when the relief comes.”

Rey chews her lip for a moment, then nuzzles against his neck again.  “I can try.”

 

-

 

It’s perfect with Rey.

She knows just how long to choke him, now, just how much pressure to put so there’s no bruising, and just how much love to kiss into his starving lips as she rides his empty heart into sweet oblivion.  


	26. Like Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Established Relationship, Menstruation, Period Sex, Blood, Menstrual Blood, Oral Sex

i.

“Babe, is there anything I can get you?”

Rey just groans.  Her cramps are  _ really _ bad.  Like really fucking terribly bad.  They always have been. 

Ben comes over to the bed and sits down next to her.  She’s wearing his sweatshirt, and a pair of his sweatpants, and is also buried under nineteen of his blankets.  He curls around her, pulling her to his chest, and she moans again. 

“What hurts?” he asks her.

“Everything,” she mumbles into his chest.  “Moving reminds me I have a uterus. Breathing reminds me I have a uterus.  And everything hurts.”

His hand drifts to her lower back—or where her lower back should be, under all of the layers between his hand and her skin—and he rubs a gentle circle that she can almost, sort of feel.  “Anything I can do?”

She just makes a noise.  He keeps asking, and it’s sweet of him.  But she’s got her heating pad, and the chocolate she picked up cheap after Valentine’s Day, and his chest against her face.  That’s about as much as she can think of, given that the painkillers she took an hour ago don’t seem to be working.

Which is probably why she thinks she’s hallucinating when she hears, “I read that sex is supposed to ease cramps slightly.”

She blinks slowly.  Through the haze left by the pain in her cramps, she runs over the words in her head.  “You’re making that up.”

“I’m not—I promise.  Do you want to try it?”

She looks up at him, at the way his face is angled down towards her, the concern and eagerness in his eyes.  

It’s the eagerness that does it.  

“I’m bloated and gross,” she tells him when he tries to peel his sweatshirt off her.  

“You could never be gross.”

“You called me gross last week, when I hadn’t showered in three days.”

“That was gross.”

“And right now I’m—” He cuts her off with a kiss, though, and presses himself against her.

Everything about her is sensitive right now.  Her lower abdomen feels like it’s being shredded, her lower back feels like someone’s taken a hammer to it, her breasts are swollen and when Ben fondles her under his sweatshirt, she positively groans from it all because—

“That feels good?”

“Yeah.  Keep on—” She doesn’t have to find the words though.  She just focuses on breathing as his hands slip under the ratty old sports bra she’s wearing.  He doesn’t need to focus on the nipples at all, every moment his fingers massage into her flesh makes Rey tremble and moan and cry underneath him.  It’s a relief, the pressure of his hands. Sure, it’s stimulating, but it’s as though he’s easing some sort of tension that’s there just by holding them.  

She likes that they’ve been doing this long enough that he doesn’t get weirded out by her random tears anymore.  Rey cries at the drop of a hat, but Ben knows when the tears are just tears and when she’s upset, and Rey is not upset right now.  Quite the opposite.

She cants her hips up against his and frowns, which makes him pause.

“What’s wrong?”

“The pad’s annoyingly thick.”

Which is how he ends up stripping his sweatpants down her legs—underwear, pad, and all—and resting her on an old towel so that if blood gets everywhere (which it will; Rey is sure it will), it won’t ruin anything nice.  He tugs his own sweatpants down his legs a moment later and then he’s between her legs, rubbing his dick along her slit.

“Better?” he asks her, and she kisses him in response.

Because yes, it’s better.  A lot better. And—

“God you’re wet.”

“That’s the blood,” she tells him, and she feels like she should be grossed out but she can’t really be.  She can’t, because the way he’s rubbing his length along her, well—she’s properly lubricated, and properly aroused, and it’s a good combination.  It feels really good, like the heat that’s gathering between her legs is—

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Keep going,” she says.

“What?”

“I don’t want to say it aloud.”

She’s getting blood all over him, she’s sure, and when he does push into her, she stretches around him with a sigh.  When he slides his fingers between them to strum at her clit, she’s sure they’re getting bloody, but she doesn’t care.  She feels good, and warm, and when an orgasm rolls through her, it relaxes just about everything. 

Ben comes, and makes her come again, and by the time they’re both lying there in his nineteen blankets, all Rey can really take note of is that she thinks her cramps have started to fade.

 

ii.

“You can’t really want this.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Ben—it’s—”

“It’s what?”

He’s staring up at her with the sort of look that screams  _ it’s a trap, _ but Rey plows on ahead because she can’t fathom what on earth the trap could be.

“It’s gross.”

“You’re talking to someone who used to pick his own scabs and then lick at the blood.”

“ _ Gross _ .”

“Delicious, really.  Nice and salty.”

“Ben that’s unsanitary.”

“I was seven and it was great.”

“You’re gross,” she repeats.

“Maybe,” he says, and there’s a devious twinkle to his eyes as he settles himself on the bed and hooks her legs over his broad shoulders.  “But the right kind of gross for exactly this.”

And Rey closes her eyes.  He’s moaning into her cunt right now and, granted, he usually moans into her cunt because he likes the way she tastes, but it’s never quite this... robust.  She half expects him to lift his head up and give a commentary on how the flavor palate of Rey plus blood and a slight aftertaste of hormones is his new favorite.  

But he doesn’t.  

He just licks her the way he usually licks her, as if she weren’t on the heaviest day of her period right now and as if this wasn’t—

“You’d want to do this even if you weren’t trying to get rid of my cramps, wouldn’t you,” she accuses him when he slides his tongue inside her.  

One of her legs shifts slightly as he shrugs his shoulders.  He keeps going, though. No interruption in service and Rey runs her fingers through his hair.  Then she changes her mind and brings her hands up to hold her swollen, sensitive breasts.

“Want help?” he asks her, and there’s something deliciously raspy about his voice.  It’s like something from a fantasy, and she can’t bring herself to open her eyes because if she does, she’ll probably see him covered in blood like a vampire.

“I got it,” she says.  “Just keep—”

“Yeah.”

And he goes back to it, his fingers tracing little circles on her thighs, his breath—in those brief instances where he pulls away from her—sending short puffs of air right against her core.  Apart from the fact that she knows she’s bleeding into his mouth, everything is familiar—the movements of his jaw, the way his lips pluck at her clit, the nudging of his nose. And it’s the familiarity of it, she thinks, that leads her to relax, to sigh, and wriggle her way deeper into the mattress and the heating pad she’s lying on as she tries to do something with whatever’s building up inside her, warm and relaxing.

It’s not long before it overpowers her, the steadiness of his tongue, the warmth of the bed around her, the way Ben hums when her sex starts to throb, and her breathing gets a bit shallow.

When she does open her eyes, he’s grinning at her.  There’s less blood on his face than she had anticipated, but it’s still enough to make her roll her eyes at him.

“Gross,” she says.

“Does that mean you won’t kiss me?” he teases, climbing up the bed, hovering over her just enough for her to feel the bulge of him against her still sensitive core.

“Gross,” she repeats, but she does kiss him.

And finds she doesn’t mind the taste.

 

iii.

“You’re oddly docile.”

“I’m not docile, I’m crampy and bloated.  Now fuck me, will you?”

“Ok, docile was the wrong word.  But you’re not…”

She glares up at him and he drops his pants quickly and crawls between her legs.  

“I have very good reason to be—”

“You do,” he says, kissing her.

She harrumphs into his mouth and his hands are on her breasts again.

“Stop trying to placate me.”

“I’m not trying to placate you.”

“You are, you’re—”

“Trying to make you feel better,” he says, kissing her.  “Docile was the wrong word. I promise. I more than promise.”

“You’re just saying that because I ripped your head off just now.”  

“You didn’t rip my head off,” he says, and she thinks he might just be punning because he’s running the head of his cock along her slit, clearly trying to stimulate himself a little bit because he’s not hard just yet.  It feels nice. “At least—not more than usual.”

She rolls her eyes up at him, and then lifts her lips up to kiss him.  She wraps her arms around his neck and sighs into his lips as he keeps stroking her slit with the tip of his dick.

“That feels nice.”

“I’m glad.”

“What did you mean—docile?”

“I was trying to say—you’re not usually one to be on your back nonstop during sex.”

“I get cramps in my back,” she points out.  “I’m living on a heating pad right now.”

“I know,” he says.  “I know.” He goes back to kissing her, the hand that’s not on his dick brushing her cheek, clearly trying to soothe.  

_ I’ll show him docile,  _ Rey grouses internally,  _ When I am not on my period.   _ Because right now, moving still hurts.  Her uterus is aching and throbbing and no matter what she does, she just doesn’t feel like herself.  

“You ok?” she asks him and he looks up at her.  

“Yeah?” But he doesn’t look it.  And he doesn’t feel it. He’s not hard.  “I just—” he sighs. “I just need a minute, ok?  Bear with me?”

“Do you want me to—”

“I got it.”  Gruffly. Almost embarrassedly.  

She forgets, sometimes, that Ben is ten years older than her.  Usually, it only takes a hot second for him to be stiff as a rod and ready to roll, but sometimes—especially if he’s too much in his head…

She kisses him and, already knowing there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll regret the decision, she pushes him off her.

“I just need—” he begins but she pushes him onto his back this time, kissing her way down his chest, hoping to fuck this is going to be worth it.

_ It wasn’t a thing to get in your head about,  _ she thinks as she sucks on his chest.   _ I’m snappish around now.  You know that. _

“Rey—” and his hands are in her hair, tilting her head up so that he can look at her again.  She keeps her eyes on his as she presses her lips to his abs and then continues to mouth her way down.

He’s half-hard now, and there’s blood on the tip of his dick, dripping a little bit down towards the stem.  She licks her way along one of his veins before taking him fully into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the salty tip of him and his skin is so very soft and her blood—

_ This can’t be that much different from when I taste my own cum, can it?   _

She doesn’t know.

She just know that it’s a richer flavor than the blood she’s tasted whenever she’s cut her fingers cooking and shoves them into her mouth while she looks for a band aid.  Richer, thicker, headier, muskier, milkier—she doesn’t really know. And before she can begin to work it out, the flavor is gone, lost on her tongue, down her throat, and all she can taste is Ben.

And how she loves the way Ben tastes.  She understands how he can spend hours with his face between her legs, because she’d do the same to him if he didn’t have a damn refractory period.  On those rare occasions where she sucks him off while he’s licking her slit—that’s the closest thing to heaven.

But heaven and peace aren’t the same thing, and when he’s stiff between her lips, he pulls loose and slowly eases her back onto her heating pad.  He kisses her until he’s inside her and then he pulls away so he has more space to finger her clit as he begins to rock in and out of her. She can feel blood—or maybe arousal, but more likely blood—dripping down the crack of her ass and onto the ratty towel and she closes her eyes and sighs because she feels peaceful, looking up at Ben as he looks down at her and fucks her pain away.


	27. Watching You Watching Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Voyeurism, Non-consensual voyeurism that turns into consensual voyeurism, Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to literally anyone who recognizes the self-insp in here. Y’all are nice oak trees and I appreciate the crap out of you.

Rey has a neighbor who lives across the courtyard.  

Well, she has many neighbors.  The building has a good thirty apartments in it, but she has one neighbor who lives on the third floor across the courtyard.

Who likes to walk naked around his apartment.

With the shades up.

She doesn’t know when he started doing it.  Probably before she moved in. All she knows is that one day, she looks up and— _ bam. Dong.  Right there.   _ That’s it.  Nothing’s the same.

She isn’t sure why he doesn’t close his shades.  Probably because he doesn’t assume that anyone’s looking out the window at him.  If he’s noticed the plants on Rey’s window sills, noticed that she waters them when she gets home, and sits near them when she’s tinkering—well, it certainly hasn’t changed his perspective on walking around naked with the shades open.

_ It’s not like he has anything to hide,  _ Rey supposes one day.  Sure, he’s got a nice penis, but really that’s not the only thing about him that’s nice on the eyes.  He’s got excellent pecs. Truly fabulous ones. Ones he undoubtedly works really hard on. Probably in the same workout routine that gives him the eight-pack.  Because he has an eight-pack. And legs that are corded with muscle, and his back positively bulges when he turns to face her—almost distracting her from the pristine ass as he stands there—why is he  _ standing _ ?—watching television and drinking a cup of coffee.

Anyway, Rey has a neighbor, who lives across the courtyard.  Who either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care that she sees him naked almost every day.

 

-

 

Rey hasn’t been one for sexual desire.  Not really. Growing up, people around her had talked about sex all the time, but Rey had always figured there were more important things.  Food, for example, or having a place to sleep. In her life she’d spent as many nights under a roof as not, and having a place with consistent heat and walls is better than any sort of sexual pleasure.   She’s lived in the complex for four months, and it’s finally starting to feel like home. It feels safe, secure,  _ hers _ .  Her landlord can’t evict her without cause, and she is never going to give him cause.  Also, he seems like a nice man who wouldn’t do that to her.

Which is why when she wakes up one night with her nipples stiff and her slit more than a little wet and achy, she’s surprised.  Especially when she tries to remember the dream that got her there and all she can think of is her neighbor’s abs. And his lips—plush, thick, wrapped around her clit, flicking at her sex with his long tongue—and—and—

Oh.

Rey has tried masturbating before.  It’s never been something that’s brought her what everyone tells her it should.  Maybe she’s doing it wrong: that seems to be a thing, based on the Internet. Girls have a harder time masturbating than boys because their parts are more complicated.  And there’s less education about them. 

But Rey’s feeling hot and achy and like something’s  _ missing _ from her, so she gives it another shot.

It’s better, when she’s actually wet. 

It’s better when she has something to focus on, something to imagine that’s not just  _ is this how it’s supposed to feel.   _ She thinks about his chest—that feels the safest.  It feels wrong to think of his penis or ass as she does this.  But his chest? Perfect, sturdy, muscular…

It’s not what people say it is.  It’s not earth-shattering, or mind-blowing, or whatever she sees on the covers of magazines as she’s checking out of the grocery store.  But it is nice. It is warming. It is relaxing. It is good, as it throbs a bit between her legs and her heart begins to steady. Yeah—she thinks she could maybe start doing this more.

 

-

 

He’s sort of inspiring, the naked guy.  For one thing, he makes Rey start walking around her apartment naked.  Well,  _ makes _ is the wrong word.  He doesn’t force her.  But he does plant the seed in her mind that maybe, when she’s home alone, clothes are overrated.

And she finds that they really are.

It’s nice, wandering around her place without clothes on.  Especially as it starts to get warmer outside and she doesn’t have to worry about being cold all the time, it’s nice to just have her skin out in the open—tits to the wind, as it were.  When she goes to the bathroom, she takes her pants all the way off and leaves them off. When she takes off her bra—because bras don’t need to be worn at home—she also takes her shirt off.  And she doesn’t really worry about her neighbor—the only person with a view into her apartment—seeing her naked, because if he can see her naked, god only knows maybe  _ he _ wouldn’t be walking around naked in his apartment all the time.  

She feels oddly safe, being naked with him.  Even if she’s not really with him. But it feels…  companionable.

Or it does until she sees him masturbating on his couch.

It takes her a while to know that’s what he’s doing.  She can’t actually see what he’s touching. But he’s sitting on a couch, his face in profile, and his head is tilted back, his mouth is slightly open.  For a moment, she thinks he’s asleep—until he bites his lip, until she notices the way his shoulder is moving rhythmically, until she sees him straighten, then reach forward for a tissue and start to wipe his chest off.

That’s... that’s perhaps less companionable.

That’s perhaps something else.

 

-

 

He masturbates  _ a lot _ .  Has he always masturbated a lot?  Or is she only noticing it now that she’s started masturbating?  She can’t tell. She can’t remember.

All she knows is her nipples get stiff when she looks at him because—as it turns out—when you masturbate to the mental image of someone’s chest, the actual  _ sight _ of his chest is enough to get you going a little bit.   She doesn’t masturbate where he can see her—or could, if he looked her way—but it’s like a dam broke inside her.  It’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop. It feels good, feeling herself. Still not... mind-blowing, but she’s getting better at it.  She starts to feel more breathless; she starts knowing how to tease herself out so that it hits her harder, where on her body she should touch herself to titillate; she starts to feel like she’s not alone.

But one day, when sees him on his couch, his body straining towards pleasure, she finds that she’s cupping her own breasts as she stares at him, that she’s running her hand over her lower belly, drifting down, down and—

No. She can’t while she’s in her living room.

Except that she does.  And it feels good. And when he comes, he sits there on his couch, breathing, relaxing, and she wonders what would happen if he just looked over at her, if he saw her watching him and touching herself.  

Would he be horrified?  

Or would he feel like he’s not alone too.  Because he is always in his apartment. Does he feel alone too?

 

-

 

One morning, when Rey is bustling through her living room, getting ready for work, she glances across the way, as she always does because it’s habit, really.   She might see him there.

He’s not there.  But there is something taped to his window.

A note.

She can’t read it from this distance, but phone cameras are really dang good these days, so she snaps a picture and zooms in, reading:

_ Want to do this for real, or keep dancing around one another and pretending this isn’t happening? _ _   
_ _ I’m Ben, by the way. _

Rey’s throat goes dry.  

She feels hot and cold.  Shame? Or nerves? She’s not sure.  All she knows is that she’s having trouble breathing, and that when she closes her eyes, she can see his chest and his arms and he’s wrapping them around her and whispering in a low voice,  _ let’s stop dancing around each other. _

So he’s seen her?

He knows she’s been watching?

Has he been watching her?

When  _ had _ he started masturbating more frequently?

 

-

 

The knock comes—quietly—at six pm, and Rey takes a deep breath as she walks slowly towards the front door.  She opens it.

“Hi.”  His voice is low—lower than she imagined it.  He also seems taller, now that he’s standing right in front of her.

“Hi,” she replies, and steps aside.  He makes his way into the apartment but doesn’t look around.  He doesn’t really need to. He’s probably seen it all, already.

“Why did you leave the curtains open?” Rey asks him.

He shrugs.  “It’s my apartment.”

“And you knew I could see you?”

He shrugs again.  There’s something about his eyes, the one part of him she hasn’t seen very closely before.  Across the courtyard she can make out his facial features, but the burning intensity of his gaze never was able to cross from his apartment to hers.  

“I didn’t care,” he said.  “You could close your shades if it bothered you.  And it didn’t seem to bother you.”

There’s a steeliness to her voice she wasn’t expecting, as though he were daring her to contradict him, daring her to lie.

“No,” she tells him, flushing.  She doesn’t know why she’s flushing.  She’d watched him masturbate, and he’d seen her touching herself—if she had to guess—while watching him masturbate and now he’s here.  She doesn’t feel embarrassed by the road that brought him to her apartment.

So why is her stomach rioting?  Why are her palms sweaty?

She looks up at him, unwilling to cede to her own nerves.  He’s here because he wants to be here. Because he wants—“When did you start looking at me?”

A faint pink floods his cheeks and his gaze drops to her lips before darting back to her eyes.  “Right after you moved in,” he says. “When you put your plants on the sill.”

“Oh,” is all Rey can think to reply.  He’s standing very close. This is like a dream, the two of them just inside the door of her apartment.  “Is it weird that it’s weird that we’re both wearing clothes?”

He bursts out laughing, and nothing is the same.

 

-

 

He fucks her against the window, right by her plants, her ass pressed against the glass, leaves brushing against her skin.  

Sure, someone looking up from the courtyard could see them, but neither of them particularly care.  It’d be sort of weird, caring about that now.

He’s gentle with her.   _ I’ve never done this before,  _ had led to a sweet but ultimately unnecessary conversation about whether she wanted to, which had ended the way Rey had known it would—both of them stripping out of their clothes and with their hands all over one another.

She thinks she likes his eyes best.  Better than his chest, better than his penis—which is even larger in person and aroused than it had been while he was just walking naked around his apartment.  His eyes are like the evening sky in summer, dark and constantly shifting—sometimes bright with stars and moon, sometimes dark and stormy and clouded with want as he kisses her.

And oh—the way he kisses her.  In all her imaginations and ministrations, she’d never once thought he might kiss her, that she might kiss him.  But his lips are divine, the way they suck on hers, the way they never seem to want to leave her. He licks along her lips, he licks into her mouth, into her heart, and Rey pulls him close and tries to imagine what it would be like to kiss him the way he’s kissing her.  

So she tries.

Which is how she ends up with her back to the window, her legs around his hips while he rocks his cock along the length of her slit, not pushing into her just yet, not pushing her too far just yet—just his lips and hers, his chest pressed against hers, and god she loves his chest, she’d never thought she’d actually be able to touch it.

When he  _ does _ press inside her, everything goes still.  Or maybe it’s just that they both go still, go breathless, go warm.  His eyes are soft, her hands are on his ass, clinging to him as though her life depends on it and—and—

And she’s not alone.  She has desires, and she’s acting on them, and things are ok and she’s not alone.  

She releases one hand and finds one of his.  It’s large, and the palm is calloused and she squeezes it tightly.  He squeezes back. With an almost groan, he buries his face into her neck and she thinks she feels him trembling.

“Is this ok?” she asks him.  “Can you hold me—”

And he laughs again.  “I could fuck you against this window for hours and not get tired.  I promise, sweetheart.”

_ Sweetheart. _

No one’s ever called her anything as sweet as sweetheart before.

Now she’s trembling too, and she thinks she gets it.  The way he’s clinging to her hand, the way he’s buried inside her but not moving, the way he’s shaking as he breathes into her neck.

She presses a kiss to his ear, to his neck, to his cheek, to whatever part of him she can reach.  She kisses him until he’s tilted his head and she can kiss his lips—those magical plush lips, the lips that had made her first dream about him.

She kisses him and kisses him and wraps her legs around his hips, wraps one arm around his neck and pulls him as close as she can.

That’s when he starts to move, and there’s nothing shaky about it.  His strokes are long and smooth and unlike anything Rey had imagined in her own bed with her own hands.  It feels like with every press of his hips, Rey forgets what it’s like to breathe, what it’s like to be without him—until he pulls out again and leaves her winded, empty.  There’s nothing but the sound of their panting in the room. The glass at her back, which had started out cold, is now warm and covered in her sweat. It’s like she can’t remember what it was like to be cold, not with the way his chest is burning against hers, the way his cock is filling her with a heat that she’s never felt before, the angle of it brushing against something inside her that makes her heart beat faster and faster and faster.

And this time, when she comes, it’s breathtaking—sharp waves of goodness rolling through her as her head falls forward to rest against his shoulder as he keeps thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into her.  This is what it feels like to feel the earth shatter without shattering. This is what it feels like when silence turns to music.

He comes not long after her, with her name gasped from his lips to hers. 

They stay there against the window for as long as it takes for Rey to feel like the world is real again.  Or they would—except that Ben starts to laugh.

“What is it?” she asks.

And he looks down at her.  “Someone on the floor below is staring at us.”

Rey grins.  “Let them. They can close their own shades if they don’t like it.”


	28. Hanging By A Moment (Here With You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU - Amateur BDSM, Blindfolding, Bondage, Bath Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [YTC](https://twitter.com/YTCShepard), who is a menace and entirely to blame for this, and also [Ali](https://twitter.com/eversoreylo), who is an enabler.
> 
> Inspired by real events: [[1](https://www.scarymommy.com/zillow-listing-sex-den/?utm_source=FB)] and [[2](https://slate.com/human-interest/2019/02/philadelphia-sex-house-interview-with-realtor-melissa-leonard.html)]

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?”

Which is how Rey ends up unbuttoning her shirt with trembling hands—embarrassingly trembling hands, stumbling-over-the-buttons trembling hands—and dropping the cotton garment to the floor.

Ben’s nostrils flare.  He takes a step towards her, then another, and with each step the tenting at the front of his pants gets more...sizable.

“Rey,” he whispers, and his hand is trembling, too, when it reaches out to rest a hand on her hip.

Her nipples are pebbling because the room is cool, but the moment that Ben touches her, heat floods her.  Heat, and excitement, and more that she can’t really—that she doesn’t really—

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she says and he freezes.  She takes his hand, though, and stands on her tiptoes and presses her chest against his, glorying in the way his shirt feels against her bare skin.  “But no one needs to know, right?”

 

-

**Ben:** I need a realtor who’s outside the box, who can work with something different.

**Rey:** Ok, I’m driving, but send me the photos and I’ll look when I get home.

**Ben:** You shouldn’t text and drive.

**Rey:** Speech-to-text.  Both hands are on the wheel.

**Ben:** Ok.  Maybe you should pull over.

_ She rolls her eyes. _

_ The potential client in question had reached out to her via email, and then they’d switched to texting.  Texting’s easier. Voice-to-text and Siri reading his texts aloud to her. She hasn’t met him yet, but she’s already rolling her eyes.  _  I can text and drive if I want.  I’m a good driver.

_ Which is immediately followed by,  _ yes, but being distracted is precisely why you shouldn’t text and drive.

It’s why I don’t text and drive.  It’s why I use speech-to-text.

_ It’s when she catches up with the fact that she’s having the argument with herself that she does, in fact, pull over and look at the texts that he sent. _

_ She stares. _

_ And stares. _

_ And then, she bursts out laughing and says aloud, “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” _

 

-

 

He strips her down completely.  They hadn’t talked about—well—a lot.  And if Rey knows anything it’s that—aren’t you supposed to communicate about this?  Aren’t there supposed to be, like, lists and yeses and nos and all that. Which is why she blurts out, “Safewords,” when he begins steering her back towards the harness.

“Red, green, yellow?” he asks.  

She nods.  Then, because that had come so easily to him, “Have you—have you done this before?”

He grimaces.  “No. I just did my research.  When…” he doesn’t finish the sentence.  He doesn’t need to. 

He helps her into the harness—his hands coming to each of her wrists and strapping her into the leather cuffs.  Then he lifts one foot and cuffs it too. Then the other.

“Are you going to undress?” she asks him quietly.  Her mouth is dry. She feels exposed like this, naked and splayed and dangling from what looks to be a very structurally sound wooden contraption.   _ You must really trust him, _ plays across her mind, which is oddly frightening because Rey doesn’t trust anyone, except maybe Finn.  

“Not yet,” he says, and leans forward.  “Anything I shouldn’t do, or—anything I should?”

Rey gulps.  

_ Trust.   _

Right.

 

-

 

_ “It’s a lovely space,” she says as they walk around it, as though there isn’t a sex dungeon in the basement. _

_ The house is light—positively bright.  Huge windows, natural lighting. The kitchen is huge, the dining room has antique furnishings, and the living room, where she is now standing with Ben Solo, is one of the nicest Rey has ever been in. _

_ “Thanks,” he says.  “Upstairs?” he offers. _

_ “Sure.”   _

_ The staircase is lined with photographs—many of them old ones of a couple and their young son.  A son with big ears and soft brown eyes and— _

_ “Are these your parents?” she asks. _

_ “Yeah,” he replies.  “I grew up in this house.  It’s—” he takes a deep breath “—weird that they’re selling it.” _

_ “That they’re…” Rey’s voice trails away and her eyes go wide.  “But the sex dungeon.” _

_ Ben grimaces. _

_ “My parents always did have a healthy sexual relationship.”  He looks almost pained thinking about it.  _

_ “Did you grow up with the—” _

_ “No, they had it done up when I was in college,” he replies at once.  “I used to hang out in the basement when I was a kid, but when I was no longer under their roof…” _

_ “Must have made Thanksgiving awkward.” _

_ “You have no idea,” Ben says.  “I just wanted to play some PS3 and I came down to see...well, you saw the pictures.” _

_ “I did,” Rey replies.  “I did see the pictures.” _

_ She’s trying not to laugh.  When she’d arrived at the house earlier that day, she’d been met with a twelve-foot tall, brick wall of a man with a surly expression.  The sort of man she’d assumed would chain women to a bed and tease them until they were a complete mess, begging for release. She’s read  _ Fifty Shades  _ (it wasn’t very  _ good _ but she has read it), she had vaguely known what to expect. _

_ She looks at another photograph. She certainly hadn’t expected that the big-eared kid in his little league uniform, grinning at the camera, was standing between the two people who used the room. _

 

_ - _

 

He picks her shirt up off the floor, folds it into a thin strip, and wraps it over her eyes, blocking him and the rest of the room from view.  He ties it just tight enough for it to stay in place, but not so tightly that it’s uncomfortable. 

For a man so big, he sure moves quietly.  She thinks she hears him step around the basement, but she’s not wholly sure.  Is he looking for something? Or is he just making her wait, letting anticipation pool in her stomach.

“Relax,” she hears him say.

“I—” Rey starts, but she’s not sure what to say to that.  She’s definitely not relaxed.

“Relax,” he repeats, and a moment later, she feels his hand on her stomach and her body is so tense, so nervous that she jerks in the harness.  She hadn’t thought he was that close. And she hadn’t expected him to touch her.

He does.   He keeps touching her, running his hands up and down the length of her stomach.  She wonders if he’s taken off his clothes yet. She wonders what his eyes look like as they take her in, naked and just hanging there for his entertainment.

“Are you cold?” he asks her.

“What?”

His fingers brush across her stiff nipples.  She bites her lip, and she’d probably look up at him coyly, if her eyes weren’t covered.   

“No, I’m not cold,” she replies softly.  

“Good.  I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

His hand drifts down and it’s like he’s lighting a fire across her skin.  His touch is light—so light she can’t feel it more than she can, but that only makes her yearn for him more.  

Down and down and down his hand goes.  Is he moving it that slowly on purpose, or is her mind slowing down her awareness of him, letting her relish in the touch of him since that’s all she has.  Her breathing is unsteady, and it feels as though her skin is rippling, flashing from hot to cold and back to hot again.

When he slips his hand between her leg and starts to rub, she lets her head fall back and moans.

 

_ - _

 

_ “Why are they selling?” she asks Ben as they reach the second floor.  It’s very neat, too, and Ben leads her into the master bedroom.  _

_ “It’s too big for them.  My dad’s getting old, and his knees can’t take the stairs anymore, so they moved into a condo in the city.  It’s a bit of a cramp on their lifestyle, but they seem… happier.”  _

_ “Well, the house is lovely,” Rey says.  “We should have no trouble selling it, especially once we’ve gotten some of the stuff out of the—” _

_ “No,” Ben says.  “That’s the problem.  They want it there.” _

_ Rey blinks at him.  “What?” _

_ “My parents want to leave the equipment in the basement.  They think it’s a selling point. Especially if someone wants to buy the house furnished.  They don’t have room for that stuff in the condo. That’s why I reached out to you. People said that you think outside the box, that you—” _

_ “I can sell it,” Rey shrugs.  “If that’s what you—what your parents want.” _

_ Ben nods slowly.   _

_ “That’s what they want.” _

_ Then that’s what Rey’s going to do. _

 

-

 

“I want to try something,” he tells her.  She wishes she could see his face. Is he smiling down at her?  Or is he as hypnotized as he sounds?

“Oh?”

“How do you feel about ropes?”

“Don’t you already have me tied up?” she asks.

“More tying.”

“Then what’s a little more between friends, then?” she asks, and he chuckles.  

“Are we friends?”  She really wishes she could see his face.

“Clients, then.  If you’d prefer.”

She feels his lips, his breath, against her stomach, and then his hand is gone.

She misses it immediately.  

She knows he’s gone across the room when she hears a drawer being pulled along quietly on its runners.  Then more silence. Her mouth is dry, her heart is pounding and before a minute has passed—or maybe after ten minutes have passed—Ben’s hands are back on her torso, cupping her breasts.

“You have such nice tits,” he says.  “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“No,” Rey replies.

“A crime,” he replies.  “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re small.”

“You say that like the two are mutually exclusive.”  He keeps palming them and she wonders where he’s going with this.  She works it out pretty fast when she feels the silk land on her stomach—soft and smooth and ribbon-like.  Is it a ribbon or a cord? She tries to shift her head to peek out from the bottom of her blindfold, but it doesn’t really work.  Whatever it is, he’s wrapping it around her chest now, and then, slowly, carefully, winding it around her breasts. 

“I thought you said you hadn’t done this before,” she accuses.  He definitely seems to know what he’s doing right now.

“It’s a good thing you’re blindfolded and can’t see me staring at a muted youtube tutorial right now,” he tells her dryly.  “Because that would really ruin the mood for you.”

Rey snorts.  “Are you really?”

“You’ll never know.”  

He wraps, and wraps, and wraps the ribbons—she decides they must be ribbons—around her chest and then circling her breasts and then around her chest again and then—unexpectedly, down the front of her body and between her legs.  The silk brushes deliciously against her slit, and he pauses to make sure that it goes right over her clit and right between her lips before bringing the rest of it back up and continuing to tie her chest and breasts. 

She lets out a groan when he tugs the ribbon a little bit and it tightens right over her sex.  Her heart is pounding and it feels like her breasts are throbbing on her chest.

“A nice little present,” he whispers to her.  “All tied up in a pretty little ribbon.”

“Are you going to unwrap me?” she asks.  His hands are between her breasts right now and she feels the ends of the ribbon dragging over her skin.

“No,” he whispers and his breath is right between her breasts.  Her breasts which are feeling so—

He brushes her nipples and Rey curses.  Her breasts aren’t very sensitive on the whole.     
Nipple play has always been more for her partners than for her.  On the rare occasion they managed to put the right amount of pressure on the sides of her breasts—featherlight, just a whisper—she’d found it stimulating, but her nipples have never felt like this before, not like every nerve in them is delighting, is sparking with joy when he touches her.  She’s never felt herself gush from just a light touch to her them, never had a moan rip its way out of her throat, never felt herself thrash. She hears the chains overhead and she swings away from Ben’s lips as her arms pull her up, because she can’t stop herself from flexing them. 

Her mouth is open.  Her breath is drying.  And suddenly the blindfold is gone and she can see herself, tied up with a black ribbon, her breasts swollen and pink, flushed with blood, and Ben is standing over her and her eyes sweep up him and—

His dick is hard in his pants, straining at the front.  He has rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and his hands are hanging at his side.  When her gaze reaches his face, her breath catches in her throat. His mouth is slack, his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes...his eyes are on her face.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in slow motion.  It feels like everything’s in slow motion with him right now.  Except the way her breasts are throbbing.

“Ben,” she hears herself say.  And also, “Please.”

And he bends his head to suck on her nipples.

  
  


-

 

_ “Was this your room?” she asks, and his cheeks go a delicate shade of pink.  It’s a nice room, large and neat. The walls are painted black, though, and it definitely screams of an angsty teenager who wanted his room to reflect his inner darkness. _

_ “Yeah,” he replies, running his long, thick fingers against the lightswitch by the door.  “They never repainted it. Not sure why. We can get it redone if you think—” _

_ “It’s a kid’s room,” Rey shrugs.  “I am sure it’ll get redone completely.”  She steps into the room and sighs. Right above the bed is a skylight.  “Could you see the stars growing up?” she asks him. “Or are we too close to the city and the light pollution?” _

_ “I could see them,” Ben replies.  “I used to count them when I had trouble sleeping.” _

_ “Me too,” Rey blurts out, then flushes.  She shouldn’t have said that. Now he’ll ask where she’d grown up, what her home had been like, and maybe she doesn’t like telling people that the reason she got into real estate was so she could see every house she’d never had growing up. _

_ “Did you have good stars?”  _

_ She isn’t expecting the question, though, and she looks at him suddenly.   _

_ “They were always there,” she tells him at last.  “That was what was comforting about them. Even when days were bad,” and god, they had been so bad sometimes, “the stars were always there.” _

_ He nods, and gives her a little smile, and she can see in his eyes that he understands that better than anyone she’s ever confessed it to. _

 

-

 

Rey’s head is spinning.

Spinning and light, and the world is a beautiful place, really.  This room is beautiful, this house is beautiful.

She’s never come from breast stimulation before.  She’d heard people mention it, but it had always seemed like something purely of myth and legend—like the pied piper, or bigfoot.  

Rey’s come from Ben sucking on her tits twice now, her clit throbbing against that black ribbon, sending shooting joy through her as she bucked her hips against nothing, because Ben had been standing too far away—much too far—she wants him closer—she’s asked, pleaded, begged... 

Ben’s finally stripped off his shirt and dropped his pants.  He’s completely naked as he begins to unwind the ribbon, and blood rushes through her veins as he sucks on her tits while slowly releasing them from their bindings.  She doesn’t come this time, but it’s a damn near miss, what with the way blood is now flowing easily out of her breasts and back to the rest of her body. She wants to hold his head, to run her fingers through his hair, to bring his lips to hers and kiss him because she wants to kiss him.  But she’s just lying there, limp in the harness. 

_ I’m not going to be able to stand straight after this _ , she thinks idly, before grinning to herself.  She’d never have thought that of sex where no one’s even been inside her before.  And Ben’s large enough that she thinks he’d make her feel that way twice over—if he ever—

He kisses his way from her chest to her neck, sucking on her skin.  His fingers are flitting over her sex, not really needing to test how swollen she is.  He must know how much she’s aching for him, even if he’s made her come twice. He must know.

His lips find hers and she sighs.  She hates that she can’t wrap her arms around him, that she can’t hold him, but she’ll take those soft, plump lips against her own, she’ll take him drinking her in as he guides himself into her, will take the way her breath catches in her throat at just how full she feels now.  

“Rey,” he groans as he starts to buck his hips against hers.  “Ahh—fuck.”

Because with his movement, the harness has started to swing back, away from him, and she half-whimpers, half-laughs as his hands fly out to grab the chains overhead.  His hands rest on her own for the briefest moment while he steadies the harness and his eyes lock with hers.

He looks as breathless as she feels.

His hands move to her hips and he begins again and this time, this time she doesn’t move as much.  Her muscles strain as she arches and sighs and does what little she can do to keep herself as close to him as she can.

But mostly, she just stares up at him, the way his head is bowed over her, the way sweat is dripping down his face, the way his abdominal and chest muscles are rippling as he loses himself in the feeling of her.  She knows he’s losing himself, from the way he keeps moaning her name.

At some point he starts rubbing her clit and that’s when Rey knows she’s lost too.  She’d been wondering about that—if she was lost—and now she knows. She knows because her heart is racing, her body is straining, yearning for him, and she is so full of whatever this feeling is that she can barely breathe.

Ben leans forward and kisses her through it, and she clings to his tongue with her lips.  It’s the only thing she can cling to. He groans, and his hand knots in her hair and it’s right as she starts to feel hot, wet, heat spilling into her that the door to the basement swings open.

“Ben?  You down here?”

“Han—” comes a woman’s voice and Ben stiffens and almost throws himself back from her as though a bolt of lightning had gone through him.   “Han—let’s—”

“Good god.  Sorry son.” The man’s voice is laughing.  

Ben is cringing visibly.  All the confidence, all the intensity is gone.  He’s stumbling backwards, trying to find his pants, then freezing midway through and staring at her and hurrying back to the harness and unstrapping her arms and legs and guiding her to the floor.  His face is redder than a beet.

“It’s ok,” Rey tells him.

“My parents—oh god.  Oh  _ god _ .”

“Hey,” she grabs hold of him.  They’re both still naked and now that she’s not in the harness, she’s realizing how stiff and sore her arms and legs are.  But she doesn’t focus on that now. “Breathe.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, looking at her as sthough she’s the only thing keeping him from something dire.

They get dressed and make their way upstairs.  

Ben’s parents are older now than they look in the photographs she’d seen on the staircase.  His father’s hair is practically white, his mother’s more stooped and definitely has some osteoporosis.  Both are determinedly looking casual.

“We were just passing through, and you mentioned the realtor was stopping by today,” his mother says firmly, doing her damndest to act as though everything’s normal.

“Rey,” Rey says, extending her hand, and hoping to god she looks less  _ extremely recently fucked _ than she feels.

“Leia,” she replies.

“That thing has killer back support, doesn’t it?” says Ben’s dad. Rey’s jaw pops open.  She hadn’t even noticed until he’d said it but yeah—yeah it had.

Ben groans and basically sinks to the floor against one of the kitchen cabinets, right as Leia swats her husband across the chest and berates him.  “ _ Han _ .”

But Han is looking gleefully around the kitchen.  “Anyway,” he says, “We should be going. Maz and Chewie are having us for dinner.  Ben—if you had her in there for a while, make sure you give her some proper aftercare, will you?  That thing is horrific on the joints if you’re not careful. Nice long bath should do the trick.”

And just like that, they’re gone, but Rey hears the conversation between husband and wife continue outside as they make their way out to their car.

“Did you have to do that?”

“I’m looking out for her.  Those straps can be murder—I would know—and it would be nice to sell the house decently quickly.”

“That’s  _ not _ what I’m talking about and you know it.”

“What, you’re already drafting a ketubah?”

Rey looks at Ben. 

Ben won’t look at her.

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “That was—I shouldn’t have put you in that situation.”

He sounds almost lifeless.  His face is blotchy, as though it can’t decide whether to be red or white right now.  

“I seem to recall consenting,” Rey says slowly and she sinks down to the floor next to him.  He catches her wince out of the corner of his eyes.

“Are you stiff?” he asks her.

“It’s fine.”

“Do you—” he takes a deep breath, and shudders again, still not looking at her.  “Do you want a bath? To relax your...muscles?”

“Only if you take it with me.”

And finally,  _ finally _ , he looks at her.

-

 

_ “Should we go down, then?” he asks her when they reach the first floor again.  “You should see it.” _

_ “Yes,” Rey says.  Why is her stomach pitting in anticipation?  He’s not propositioning her, not proposing anything more than a business...something.  But there it is, pitted in anticipation.  _

_ He turns on the lightswitch as they head down the white carpeted stairs, and does he mean to do that, putting his hand on the small of her back as though to make sure she doesn’t fall? _

_ They reach the bottom of the stairs and Rey looks around, trying to find words. _

_ It’s definitely a sex dungeon.  There’s a bench thing that looks like you’re supposed to kneel over it, contraptions to keep your legs apart, a star thing with hand and foot bindings so you can stand all spread.  But it’s the leather harness, dangling from chains in a strong, roughwood frame, that catches Rey’s attention. _

_ “It certainly is a sex dungeon,” she says at last. _

_ “It is,” Ben agrees. _

_ She glances at him, preparing to crack another joke because she imagines that having to show off your parents’ sex dungeon is probably something that  _ requires _ humor in order to stomach.  But the way he’s looking at her makes her words freeze in her mouth, and she gets the feeling, this little feeling in the back of her neck, that nothing is going to be the same. _

 

-

 

The bath is incredible, large enough for two people, even when one of them is Ben-sized.  The tub is so deep that her breasts float a little bit before she decides that she’d rather sit against Ben than against the ceramic.

So she settles herself between his legs and sighs and leans back against his chest.  It takes him a moment, but he wraps his arms around her.

“Are you really as fine with all that as you seem?” he asks her at last.  The question sounds like he’s forcing it out, like it’s been stewing in his mind ever since they stripped down again and he can’t contain it any longer.

“Yes,” she shrugs.

She feels more than hears him stop breathing, the way his chest just doesn’t move for a good ten seconds.  Then it starts again. “ _ How _ ?”

“Because if your parents are as kinky as they seem, I don’t think they’d think less of anyone else who’s interested,” she shrugs.  “So they won’t think less of me. You—well, I don’t know what your relationship is like.”  _ I don’t know what parents are like,  _ she doesn’t say.  “But it’s not like they didn’t tell you to help them sell the house with their sex dungeon in it.”  She tilts her head around to look up at him. He’s staring down at her almost dazed again, quite the way he’d looked when he’d finished wrapping her in ribbon.  “Are you ok?”

That’s when she feels his arms tighten around her.  He presses his face against the top of her head and seems to breathe in the scent of her hair.  “I don’t know,” he replies. “What does all this mean. You and me?”

Now it’s Rey’s turn to stop breathing.  She’s sitting in a client’s bathtub with said client, after having let said client tie her up and fuck her in his parents’ sex dungeon.  She’d wanted him to do that. She’d trusted him with it. 

“I don’t know,” she replies softly.  “I don’t know what I want it to mean.  What do you want it to mean?” She peeks up at him, nervous.   _ Do you want me?   _ People don’t tend to want Rey the way that Rey wants to be wanted.  Why would they? Even her own parents hadn’t.

“Let’s put it this way,” he replies with a snort, “If I’m going to have to look my parents in the face again after that, I’d rather be able to say that it built something, not that it broke something.”

There’s a lump in her throat that she won’t let rise, that she won’t let get bigger.  So she turns around in his arms, and shifts until she’s straddling his hips and holding him while she kisses him.  How good it feels—holding him. Holding him with her arms, her legs, her lips, her heart, memorizing the feel of him in this perfect, quiet, moment.

They stay like that for a while.  He does heed his father, and spends a good amount of time just rubbing the muscles in her arms and legs, to intensely to really be sensual.  It’s the first time anyone’s ever given Rey anything close to a massage like that, where she can feel the tension leave her muscles, until they grow soft from warmth and touch.

She doesn’t remember the last time she felt this content—so blissed out that it takes her a good thirty seconds to realize that she’s just rubbing her face along the line of his neck and shoulder.  His skin is soft and she loves the way it feels. 

She feels warm, and safe, and loved and that’s probably why she brings her hand between them and begins tracing her fingers along Ben’s cock.  It’s not stiff—for all she knows, he’s still in refractory for who knows how long—but there’s something wonderful about just holding him like this.  Does he feel warm, and safe, and loved too?

He doesn’t stay limp for long.  Indeed, she doubts he stays limp for more than a minute, and it’s even before he’s fully erect that his fingers are toying with her slit.  And this time, when she takes him in, she gets to hold him close, she gets to ride him—even if her legs are tired—until she’s done with him; and somehow, she doesn’t think she’ll ever really be done with him.

She’s certainly not done with him when he comes again, and she’s definitely not done with him when she does.

She buries her face in his neck and he holds her close in strong arms. The only thing Rey can think as the water slowly cools around them and their fingers and toes get pruney is that she doesn’t want to sell this house. 

She wants to stay here forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express how much fun this whole month has been, and I'm sorry I'm like 90 years behind on reviews. I'll get to them, and literally every single one of you fills me with delight and joy!
> 
> It's been a real pleasure (heh) and for those of you expressing dismay that the month is over--don't worry. I'm 1000000% sure I'll be writing more porn of these two, if on a less regular basis. LBR here: they can't keep their hands and hearts off one another.
> 
> HAPPY REYLO-ING!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed 😈you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/crossing_winter) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/crossingwinter)


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